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The Strand Magazine. 

Vol. xxvii. 

JANUARY, 1904. 

Nc. 157. 



IV.— The Adventure of the Solitary Cyclist. 

ROM the years 1894 to 1901 

inclusive Mr. Sherlock Holmes • 

was a very busy man. It is 

safe to say that there was no 

public case of any difficulty in 

which he was not consulted 

during those eight years, and there were 

hundreds of private cases, some of them 

of the most intricate and extraordinary 

•character, in which he played a prominent 

part Many startling successes and a few 

unavoidable failures were the outcome of 

this long period of continuous work. As 

I have preserved very full notes of all 

these cases, and was myself personally 

engaged in many of them, it may be 

imagined that it is no easy task to know 

which I should select to lay before the public. 

I shall, however, preserve my former rule, 

and give the preference to those cases which 

derive their interest not so much from the 

brutality of the crime as from the ingenuity 

and dramatic quality of the solution. For 

this reason I will now lay before the reader 

the facts connected with Miss Violet Smith, 

the solitary cyclist of Charlington, and the 

curious sequel of our investigation, which 

culminated in unexpected tragedy. It is 

true that the circumstances did not admit of 

any striking illustration of those powers for 

which my friend was famous, but there were 

some points about the case which made it 

stand out in those long records of crime from 

which I gather the material for these little 


On referring to my note-book for the year 
1895 I ^d that it was upon Saturday, the 
23rd of April, that we first heard of Miss 
Violet Smith. Her visit was, I remember, 
extremely unwelcome to Holmes, for he was 
immersed at the moment in a very abstruse 

Vol, xxvii.— 1. Copyright, 1904, by A. Coiian l>oyl< 

and complicated problem concerning the 
peculiar persecution to which John Vincent 
Harden, the well-known tobacco millionaire, 
had been subjected. My friend, who loved 
above all things precision and concentration 
of thought, resented anything which dis- 
tracted his attention from the matter in 
hand. And yet without a harshness which 
was foreign to his nature it was impossible to 
refuse to listen to the story of the young 
and beautiful woman, tall, graceful, and 
queenly, who presented herself at Baker 
Street late in the evening and implored his 
assistance and advice. It was vain to urge 
that his time was already fully occupied, for 
the young lady had come with the determina- 
tion to tell her story, and it was evident that 
nothing short of force could get her out of 
the room until she had done so. With a 
resigned air and a somewhat weary smile, 
Holmes begged the beautiful intruder to take 
a seat and to inform us what it was that was 
troubling her. 

" At least it cannot be your health," said 
he, as his keen eyes darted over her; "so 
ardent a bicyclist must be full of energy." 

She glanced down in surprise at her own 
feet, and I observed the slight roughening of 
the side of the sole caused by the friction of 
the edge of the pedal. 

" Yes, I bicycle a good deal, Mr. Holmes, 
and that has something to do with my visit 
to you to-day." 

My friend took the lady's ungloved hand 
and examined it with as close an attention 
and as little sentiment as a scientist would 
show to a specimen. 

"You will excuse me, I am sure. It is 
my business," said he, as he dropped it. " I 
nearly fell into the error of supposing that 
you were typewriting. Of course, it is 

:, in the 'JtfUM of Ai rtcrichC H IG A N 




obvious that it is music. You observe the 
spatulate finger- en d, Watson, which is com- 
mon to both professions ? There is a 
spirituality about the face, however" — he 
gently turned it towards the light — "which 
the typewriter does not generate. This lady 
is a musician*" 

"Yes, Mr. Holmes, I teach music," 

" In the country, I presume, from your 
complexion/ 3, 

11 Yes, sir ; near Farnham, on the borders 
of Surrey," 

"A beautiful neighbourhood and full of 
the most interesting associations. You re- 
member, Watson, that it was near there 
that we took Archie Stamford, the forger. 
Now, Miss Yiolrt, what has happened 
to you near Farnham, on the borders of 
Surrey ? " 

The young lady, with great clearness and 
composure, made the following curious state- 
ment :— 

" My father is dead, Mr. Holmes. He 
was James Smith, who conducted the 
orchestra at the old Imperial Theatre. My 
mother and I were left without a relation 
in the world except one uncle, Ralph Smith, 
who went to Africa twenty-five years ago, 
and we never had a word from him 


since. Whenf 
died we were 
very poor, but 
day we were 
that there wa 
the Times in 
ing for our wl 
abouts. You 
imagine how 
cited we were, 
we thought 
someone had 
us a fortune- 
went at once 
the lawyer wl 
name was givei 
the paper. TI 
we met two ger 
men, Mr, Ca 
thers and I 
Woodley, who were he; 
on a visit from So 
Africa. They said t 
my uncle was a friend 
theirs, that he died so 
months before in gr 
poverty in Johannesbu 
and that he had asi 
them with his last bra 
to hunt up his relations and see that tl 
were in no want. It seemed strange to 
that Uncle Ralph, who took no notice of 
when he was alive, should be so careful 
look after us when he was dead ; but A 
Carruthers explained that the reason was It 
my uncle had just heard of the death of I 
brother, and so felt responsible for our fate. 
"Excuse me," said Holmes; "when w 
this interview ? " 

" I^ist Decerning —four months ago." 
" Pray proceed. 1 ' 

" Mr. Woodley seemed to me to be a mo 
odious person, He was for ever making eyi 
at me — a coarse, puffy-faced, red-moustache 
young man, with his hair plastered down c 
each side of his forehead. I thought that h 
was perfectly hateful —and 1 was sure tk 
Cyril would not wish me to know such 
person/ 1 

"Oh, Cyril is his name!-' said Holme 

The young lady blushed and laughed, 
"Yes, Mr. Holmes; Cyril Morton, ai 
electrical engineer, and we hope to b 
married at the end of the summer. Pea 
me, how did I get talking about him? Wha 
I wished to say was that Mr. Woodley wa 
perfedSyigifti&bipobiit that Mr, Carm there, 



who was a much older man, was more 
agreeable. He was a dark, sallow, clean- 
shaven, silent person ; but he had polite 
manners and a pleasant smile. He inquired 
how we were left, and on finding that we 
were very poor he suggested that I should 
come and teach music to his only daughter, 
aged ten. I said that I did not like to leave 
my mother, on which he suggested that I 
should go home to her every week-end, and 
he offered me a hundred a year, which was 
certainly splendid pay. So it ended by 
my accepting, and I went down to 
Chiltern Grange, about six miles from 
Farnham. Mr. Carruthers was a widower, 
but he had engaged a lady -housekeeper, 
a very respectable, elderly person, called 
Mrs. Dixon, to look after his establishment. 
The child was a dear, and everything 
promised well. Mr. Carruthers was very 
kind and very musical, and we had most 
pleasant evenings together. Every week- 
end I went home to my mother in town. 

"The first flaw in my happiness was the 
arrival of the red-moustached Mr. Woodley. 
He came for a visit of a week, and oh, it 
seemed three months to me ! He was a 
dreadful person, a bully to everyone else, 
but to me something infinitely worse. He 
made odious love to me, boasted of his 
wealth, said that if I married him I would 
have the finest diamonds in London, and 
finally, when I would have nothing to do with 
him, he seized me in his arms one day after 
dinner — he was hideously strong — and he 
swore that he would not let me go until I had 
kissed him. Mr. Carruthers came in and 
tore him off from me, on which he turned 
upon his own host, knocking him down and 
cutting his face open. That was the end of 
his visit, as you can imagine. Mr. Carruthers 
apologized to me next day, and assured me 
that I should never be exposed to such an 
insult again. I have not seen Mr. Woodley 

"And now, Mr. Holmes, I come at last to 
the special thing which has caused me to ask 
your advice to-day. You must know that 
every Saturday forenoon I ride on my bicycle 
to Farnham Station in order to get the 12.22 
to town. The road from Chiltern Grange 
s a lonely one, and at one spot it is 
particularly so, for it lies for over a mile 
between Charlington Heath upon one side 
and the woods which lie round Charlington 
Hall upon the other. You could not 
find a more lonely tract of road anywhere, 
and it is quite rare to meet so much as a 
cart, or a peasant, until you reach the high 

road near Crooksbury Hill. Two weeks ago 
I was passing this place when I chanced to 
look back over my shoulder, and about two 
hundred yards behind me I saw a man, also 
on a bicycle. He seemed to be a middle- 
aged man, with a short, dark beard. I looked 
back before I reached Farnham, but the man 
was gone, so I thought no more about it. 
But you can imagine how surprised I was, 
Mr. Holmes, when on my return on the 
Monday I saw the same man on the same 
stretch of road. My astonishment was in- 
creased when the incident occurred again, 
exactly as before, on the following Saturday 
and Monday. He always kept his distance 
and did not molest me in any way, but still 
it certainly was very odd. I mentioned 
it to Mr. Carruthers, who seemed interested 
in what I said, and told me that he had 
ordered a horse and trap, so that in future I 
should not pass over these lonely roads with- 
out some companion. 

"The horse and trap were to have come this 
week, but for some reason they were not 
delivered, and again I had to cycle to the 
station. That was this morning. You can 
think that I looked out when I came to 
Charlington Heath, and there, sure enough, 
was the man, exactly as he had been the two 
weeks before. He always kept so far from 
me that I could not clearly see his face, but it 
was certainly someone whom I did not know. 
He was dressed in a dark suit with a cloth 
cap. The only thing about his face that I 
could clearly see was his dark beard. To-day 
I was not alarmed, but I was filled with 
curiosity, and I determined to find out 
who he was and what he wanted. I slowed 
down my machine, but he slowed down his. 
Then I stopped altogether, but he stopped 
also. Then I laid a trap for him. There is 
a sharp turning of the road, and I pedalled 
very quickly round this, and then I stopped 
and waited. I expected him to shoot round 
and pass me before he could stop. But he 
never appeared. Then I went back and 
looked round the corner. I could see a mile 
of road, but he was not on it. To make it the 
more extraordinary, there was no side road at 
this point down which he could have gone." 

Holmes chuckled and rubbed his hands. 
" This case certainly presents some features 
of its own," said he. " How much time 
elapsed between your turning the corner and 
your discovery that the road was clear ? " 

" Two or three minutes." 

" Then he could not have retreated down 
the road, and you say that there are no side 
roads ? " 






"Then he certainly 
took a footpath on one 
side or the other" 

" It could not have 
been on the side of 
the heath or I should have seen him." 

" So by the process of exclusion we arrive 
at the fact that he made his way towards 
Charlington Hall, which, as I understand, is 
situated in its own grounds on one side of 
the road Anything else ? " 

" Nothing, Mr. Holmes, save that I was 
so perplexed that I felt I should not be 
happy until I had seen you and had your 

Holmes sat in silence for some little time. 

" Where is the gentleman to whom you 
are engaged ? " he asked, at last 

" He is in the Midland Electrical Com- 
pany, at Coventry." 

"He would not pay you a surprise visit ? " 

" Oh, Mr. Holmes ! As if I should not 
know him ! " 

" Have you had any other admirers ? " 

" Several before I knew Cyril. ,J 

" And since ? " 

u There was this dreadful man, Woodley, 
if you can call him an admirer/' 

" No one else ? " 

Our fair client seemed a little confused. 

"Who was he ? " asked Holmes. 

"Oh, it mj 

a mere fane 
mine; but ii 
seemed to 
sometimes ths 
employer, Mr, 
ruthers, tak 
great deal o: 
terest in me. 
are thrown r; 
together. I pla 
the evening, 
has never said 
thing. He 
perfect gentlei 
But a girl &b 

"Hal" Hoi 
looked g r a 
" What does h< 
for a living ? w 
"He is a 

11 No carriage 
horses ? * 

"Well, at 1. 
he is fairly well 
do. But he g 
into the City i 
or three times 
week. He 
deeply intends 
in South African gold shares/' 

" You will let me know any fresh devel< 
ment, Miss Smith. I am very busy just nc 
but I will find time to make some inquir 
into your case. In the meantime take 
step without letting me know. Good-b; 
and I trust that we shall have nothing t 
good news from you." 

"It is part of the settled order of Natu 
that such a girl should have followers/' sa 
Holmes, as he pulled at his meditative pif 
"but for choice not on bicycles in lont 
country roads. Some secretive lover, t 
yond all doubt. But there are curious ar 
suggestive details about the case, Watson 
"That he should appear only at th. 
point ? n 

" 1 Exactly, Our first effort must be I 
find who are the tenants of Charlingtc 
HalL Then j again, how about the coi 
nection between Carruthers and Woudle; 
since they appear to be men of such 
different type? How came they hoik t 
be so keen upon looking up Ralph Smith 1 
relations ? One more point, What sor 
of a' : -taft#l froifl which pays clouhlc th 




market price for a governess, but does not 
keep a horse although six miles from the 
station ? Odd, Watson — very odd ! " 

"You will go down?" 

"No, my dear fellbw, you will go down. 
This may be some trifling intrigue, and I 
cannot break my other important research for 
the sake of it. On Monday you will arrive 
early at Farnham ; you will conceal yourself 
near Charlington Heath ; you will observe 
these facts for yourself, and act as your own 
judgment advises. Then, having inquired 
as to the occupants of the Hall, you will 
come back to me and report. And now, 
Watson, not another word of the matter until 
we have a few solid stepping-stones on which 
we may hope to get across to our solution." 

We had ascertained from the lady that she 
went down upon the Monday by the train 
which leaves Waterloo at 9.50, so I started 
early and caught the 9.13. At Farnham 
Station I had no difficulty in being directed 
to Charlington Heath. It was impossible to 
mistake the scene of the young lady's 
adventure, for the road runs between the 
open heath on one side and an old yew 
hedge upon the other, surrounding a park 
which is studded with magnificent trees. 
There was a main gateway of lichen-studded 
stone, each side pillar surmounted by 
mouldering heraldic emblems ; but besides 
this central carriage drive I observed several 
points where there were gaps in the hedge 
and paths leading through them. The house 
was invisible from the road, but the sur- 
roundings all spoke of gloom and decay. 

The heath was covered with golden 
patches of flowering gorse, gleaming magni- 
ficently in the light of the bright spring 
sunshine. Behind one of these clumps I 
took up my position, so as to command both 
the gateway of the Hall and a long stretch 
of the road upon either side. It had been 
deserted when I left it, but now I saw a 
cyclist riding down it from the opposite 
direction to that in, which I had come. He 
was clad in a dark suit, and I saw that he 
had a black beard. On reaching the end of 
the Charlington grounds he sprang from his 
machine and led it through a gap in the 
hedge, disappearing from my view. 

A quarter of an hour passed and then a 
second cyclist appeared. This time it was 
the young lady coming from the station. I 
saw her look about her as she came to the 
Charlington hedge. An instant letter the 
man emerged from his hiding-place, sprajig 
upon his cycle, and followed her. In all the 
broad landscape those were the only moving 

figures, the graceful girl sitting very straight 
upon her machine, and the man behind her 
bending low over his handle-bar, with a 
curiously furtive suggestion in every move- 
ment. She looked back at him and slowed 
her pace. He slowed also. She stopped. 
He at once stopped too, keeping two 
hundred yards behind her. Her next move- 
ment was as unexpected as it was spirited. 
She suddenly whisked her wheels round and 
dashed straight at him ! He was as quick as 
she, however, and darted off in desperate 
flight. Presently she came back up the road 
again, her head haughtily in the air, not 
deigning to take any further notice of her 
silent attendant. He had turned also, and 
still kept his distance until the curve of the 
road hid them from my sight. 

I remained in my hiding-place, and it was 
well that I did so, for presently the man re- 
appeared cycling slowly back. He turned in 
at the Hall gates and dismounted from his 
machine. For some few minutes I could 
see him standing among the trees. His 
hands were raised and he seemed to be 
settling his necktie. Then he mounted his 
cycle and rode away from me down the drive 
towards the Hall. 1 ran across the heath 
and peered through the trees. Far away I 
could catch glimpses of the old grey building 
with its bristling Tudor chimneys, but the 
drive ran through a dense shrubbery, and I 
saw no more of my man. 

However, it seemed to me that I had 
done a fairly good morning's work, and I 
walked back in high spirits to Farnham. 
The local house-agent could tell me nothing 
about Charlington Hall, and referred me 
to a well-known firm in Pall Mall. There I 
halted on my way home, and met with 
courtesy from the representative. No, I 
could not have Charlington Hall for the 
summer. J was just too late. It had 
been let about a month ago. Mr. William- 
son was the name of the tenant. He was a 
respectable elderly gentleman. The polite 
agent was afraid he could say no more, as 
the affairs of his clients were not matters 
which he could discuss. 

Mr. Sherlock Holmes listened with atten- 
tion to the long report which I was able to 
present to him that evening, but it did not 
elicit that word of curt praise which I had 
hoped for and should have valued. On the 
contrary, his austere face was even more 
severe than usual as he commented upon the 
.things that I had done and the things that 
I had not. 

"Your hicliru-pUcfcp|-|imy dear Wa{son ? 




was very faulty. You should have been 
behind the hedge ; then you would have had 
a close view of this interesting person. As it 
is you were some hundreds of yards away, and 
can tell me even less than Miss Smith. She 
thinks she does not know the man ; I am 
convinced she does. Why, otherwise, should 
he be so desperately Anxious that she should 
not get so near him as to see his features ? 
You describe him as bending over the handle- 
bar. Concealment again, you see. You 
really have done remarkably badly. He 
returns to the house and you want to find 
out who he is. You come to a London 
house-agent ! " 

" What should I have done ? " I cried, with 
some heat. 

" Gone to the nearest public-house. That 
is the centre of country gossip. They would 
have told you every name, from the master to 
the scullery-maid. Williamson ! It conveys 
nothing to my mind. If he is an elderly 
man he is not this active cyclist who sprints 
away from that athletic young lady's pursuit. 
What have we gained by your expedition ? 
The knowledge that the girl's story is true. 
I never doubted it That there is a connec- 
tion between the cyclist and the Hall. I 
never doubted that either. That the Hall is 
tenanted by Williamson. Who's the better 
for that ? Well, well, my dear sir, don't look 
so depressed. We can do little more until 
next Saturday, and in the meantime I may 
make one or two inquiries myself." 

Next morning we had a note from Miss 
Smith, recounting shortly and accurately the 
very incidents which I had seen, but the pith 
of the letter lay in the postscript : — 

" I am sure that you will respect my con- 
fidence, Mr. Holmes, when I tell you that 
my place here has become difficult owing 
to the fact that my employer has proposed 
marriage to me. I am convinced that his 
feelings are most deep and most honourable. 
At the same time my promise is, of course, 
given. He took my refusal very seriously, 
but also very gently. You can understand, 
however, that the situation is a little 

"Our young friend seems to be getting 
into deep waters," said Holmes, thought- 
fully, as he finished the letter. "The case 
certainly presents more features of interest 
and more possibility of development than 
I had originally thought. I should be 
none the worse for a quiet, peaceful day 
in the country, and I am inclined to run 
down this afternoon and test one or two 
theories which I have formed." 

Digitized by \^UO£ II 

Holmes's quiet day in the country had a 
singular termination, for he arrived at Baker 
Street late in the evening with a cut lip and a 
discoloured lump upon his forehead, besides 
a general air of dissipation which would have 
made his own person the fitting object of 
a Scotland Yard investigation. He was 
immensely tickled by his own adventures, and 
laughed heartily as he recounted them. 

" I get so little active exercise that it is 
always a treat," said he. " You are aware 
that I have some proficiency in the good old 
British sport of boxing. Occasionally it is 
of service. To-day, for example, I should 
have come to very ignominious grief with- 
out it" 

I begged him to tell me what had occurred. 
"I found that country pub which I had 

already recommended to your notice, and 
there I made my discreet inquiries. I was 
in the bar, and a garrulous landlord was 
giving me all that I wanted. Williamson is 
a white-bearded man, and he lives alone 
with a small staff of servants at the Hall. 
There is some rumour that he is or has been 
a clergyman ; but one or two incidents of his 
short residence at the Hall struck me as 
peculiarly unecclesiastical. I have already 
made some inquiries at a clerical agency, and 
they tell me that there was a man of that 
name in orders whose career has been a 
singularly dark one. The landlord further 
informed me that there are usually week- 
end visitors — ' a warm lot, sir ' — at the 
Hall, and especially one gentleman with 
a red moustache, Mr. Woodley by name, who 
was always there. We had got as far as this 
when who should walk in but the gentleman 
himself, who had been drinking his beer in 
the tap-room and had heard the whole con- 
versation. Who was I ? What did I want? 
What did I mean by asking questions ? He 
had a fine flow of language, and his adjectives 
were very vigorous. He ended a string of 
abuse by a vicious backhander which I 
failed to entirely avoid. The next few 
minutes were delicious. It was a straight 
left against a slogging ruffian. I emerged as 
you see me. Mr. Woodley went home in a 
cart. So ended my country trip, and it must 
be confessed that, however enjoyable, my day 
on the Surrey border has not been much 
more profitable than your own." 

The Thursday brought us another letter 
from our client 

II You will not be surprised, Mr. Holmes," 
said she, "to hear that I am leaving Mr. 
Carruthers's employment. Even the high 
pay cannot rcjconcllef lOfti to the discomforts 




of my situation;. On Saturday I come up to 
town and t do -not intend to, return, Mr, 
Carmthers has got a trap, and so the dangers 
of the lonely, road, if there ever were any 
dangers, arc now over. 

14 As to the special cause of niy leaving, it 
is not merely the strained situation with Mr, 
Carrulhers, but it is the reappearance of that 
odious man, ftfa\ Wood ley. He was always 
hideous, but he looks more awful than ever 
now, for he appears to have had an accident 
and he is much disfigured, I saw him out 
of the window, but I am glad to say I did 
not meet him. He had a long talk with Mr. 
CarruthtT.% who seemed much excited after- 
wards. Woodley must be staying in the 
neighbourhood, for he did ijfot sleep here, 
and yet I caught a glimpse of him again this 
morning slinking about in the shrubbery. I 
would sooner have a savage wild animal 
loose about the place. I loathe and fear 
him more than I can say. How can Mr, 

Carruthers endure such a 
creature for a moment ? 
However, all my troubles 
will be over on Saturday* 5 ' 
" So I trust, Watson ; 
so I trust," said Holmes, 
gravely. " There is some 
deep 1 intrigue going cm 
round that little woman, 
and it is our duty to see 
that no one molests her 
upon that last journey, I 
think, Watson, that we 
must spare time to run 
down together on Satur- 
day morning, and make 
sure that this curious and 
inconclusive investigation 
has no untoward end- 

I confess that I had 
not up to now taken a 
very serious view of the 
case, which had seemed 
to me rather grotesque 
and bizarre than danger- 
ous. That a man should 
lie in wait for and follow 
a very handsome woman 
is no unheard of thing, 
and if he had so little 
audacity that he not 
only dared not address 
her, but even fled from 
her approach, he was 
not a very formidable 
assailant. The ruffian 
Woodley was a very different person, but, 
except on the one occasion, he had not 
molested our client, and now he visited the 
house of Carruthers without intruding upon 
her presence. The man on the bicycle was 
doubtless a member of those week-end 
parties at the Hall of which the publican 
had spoken ; but who he was or what" he 
wanted was as obscure as ever. It was the 
severity of Holmes's manner and the fact 
that he slipped a revolver into his pocket 
before leaving our rooms which impressed 
me with the feeling that tragedy might 
prove to lurk behind this curious train of 

A rainy night had been followed by a 
glorious morning, and the heath-covered 
country-side with the glowing clumps of 
flowering gorse seemed all the more beautiful 
to eyes which were weary of the duns and 
drabs and slate-greys of London. Holmes 
and I walked along the broad, sandy road 




inhaling the fresh morning air, and rejoicing 
in the music of the birds and the fresh breath 
of the spring, From a rise of the road on 
the shoulder of Crooksbury Hill we could see 
the grim Hall bristling out from amidst the 
ancient oaks, which, old as they were, were 
still younger than the building which they 
surrounded. Holmes pointed down the 
long tract of road which wound, a reddish 
yellow band, between the brown of the heath 
and the budding green of the woods. Far 
away, a black dot, we could see a vehicle 
moving in our direction, Holmes gave an 
exclamation of impatience. 

" I had given a margin of half an hour,*' 
said he. " If that is her trap she must be 
making for the earlier train, I fear, Watson, 
that she will be past Charlington before we 
can possibly meet her." 

From the instant that we passed the rise 
we could no longer see the vehicle, but we 
hastened onwards at such a pace that my 
sedentary life began to tell upon me, and I 
was compelled to fall behind. Holmes, how- 
ever, was always in training, for he had 
inexhaustible stores of nervous energy upon 
which to draw. His springy step never 
slowed until suddenly, when he was a 
hundred yards in front of me, 
he halted, and I saw him 
throw, up his hand with i 
gesture of grief and despair. 
At the same instant ' 
an empty dog-cart, 
the horse cantering, 
the reins trailing, 
appeared round the 
curve of the road 
and rattled swiftly 
towards us. 

"Too late, Wat- 
son ; too late ! " 
cried Holmes, as I 
ran panting to his 
side, " Fool that 
I not to allow for that 
earlier train ! lis abduc- 
tion, Watson — abduction ! 
Murder ! Heaven knows 
what I Block the road ! Stop the 
horse ! That's right. Now, jump 
in, and let us see if I can repair the 
consequences of my own blunder/' 

We had sprung into the dog-cart, 
and Holmes, after turning the horse, 
gave it a sharp cut with the whip, 
and we flew back along the road. 
As we turned the curve the whole 
stretch of road between (^({jHWlf* 

and the heath was opened up. I grasped 
Holmes's arm. 

u That's the man ! " I gasped, 

A solitary cyclist was coming towards u& 
His head was down and his shoulders 
rounded as he put every ounce of energy 
that he possessed on to the pedals. He was 
flying like a racer. Suddenly he raised his 
bearded face, saw us close to him, and pulled 
up, springing from his machine. That coal- 
black beard was in singular contrast to the 
pallor of his face, and his eyes were as 
bright as if he had a fever. He stared at us 
and at the dog-cart. Then a look of amaze- 
ment came over his face, 

" Halloa ! Stop there ! " he shouted, hold- 
ing his bicycle to block our road. '* Where 
did you get that dog-cart ? Pull up, man 1 " 
he yelled, drawing a pistol from his side 
pocket. " Pull up, I say, or, by George, I'll 
put a bullet into your horse," 

Holmes threw the reins into my lap and 
sprang down from the cart. 

" ' TOO t.A1t t WATSON ; 





" You're the man we want to see. Where 
is Miss Violet Smith ?" he said, in his quick, 
clear w^y. 

" That's what I am asking you. You're in 
her dog-cart. You ought to know where she 

" We met the dog-cart on the road. There 
was no one in it. We drove back to help 
the young lady." 

11 Good Lord ! Good Lord ! what shall I 
do?" cried the stranger, in an ecstasy of 
despair. "They've got her, that hellhound 
Woodley and the blackguard parson. Come, 
man, come, if you really are her friend. 
Stand by me and we'll save her, if I have to 
leave my carcass in Charlington Wood." 

He ran distractedly, his pistol in his hand, 
towards a gap in the hedge. Holmes fol- 
lowed him, and I, leaving the horse grazing 
beside the road, followed Holmes. 

" This is where they came through/' said 
he, pointing to the marks of several feet upon 
the muddy path. " Halloa ! Stop a minute ! 
Who's this in the bush?" 

It was a young fellow about seventeen, 
dressed like an ostler, with leather cords and 
gaiters. He lay upon his back, his knees 
drawn up, a terrible cut upon his head. He 
was insensible, but alive. A glance at his 
wound told me that it had not penetrated 
the bone. 

" That's Peter, the groom," cried the 
stranger. "He drove her. The beasts 
have pulled him off and clubbed him. Let 
him lie ; we can't do him any good, but we 
may save her from the worst fate that can 
befall a woman." 

We ran frantically down the path, which 
wound among the trees. We had reached the 
shrubbery which surrounded the house when 
Holmes pulled up. 

" They didn't go to the house. Here are 
their marks on the left — here, beside the 
laurel bushes ! Ah, I said so ! " 

As he spoke a woman's shrill scream — a 
scream which vibrated with a frenzy of 
horror — burst from the thick green clump 
of bushes in front of us. It ended suddenly 
on its highest note with a choke and a gurgle. 

" This way ! This way ! They are in the 
bowling alley," cried the stranger, darting 
through the bushes. " Ah, the cowardly 
dogs 1 Follow me, gentlemen ! Too late ! 
too late ! by the living Jingo ! " 

We had broken suddenly into a lovely 
glade of greensward surrounded by ancient 
trees. On the farther side of it, under the 
shadow of a mighty oak, there stood a sin- 
gular group of three people. One was a 

L O 

woman, our client, drooping and faint, a 
handkerchief round her mouth. Opposite 
her stood a brutal, heavy -faced, red- 
moustached young man, his gaitered legs 
parted wide, one arm akimbo, the other waving 
a riding-crop, his whole attitude suggestive 
of triumphant bravado. Between them an 
elderly, grey-bearded man, wearing a short 
surplice over a light tweed suit, had evidently 
just completed the wedding service, for he 
pocketed his prayer-book as we appeared and 
slapped the sinister bridegroom upon the 
back in jovial congratulation. 

" They're married ! " I gasped. 

" Come on ! " cried our guide ; " come 
on 1 " He rushed across the glade, Holmes 
and I at his heels. As we approached, the 
lady staggered against the trunk of the tree 
for support. Williamson, the ex-clergyman, 
bowed to us with mock politeness, and the 
bully Woodley advanced with a shout of 
brutal and exultant laughter. 

" You can take your beard off, Bob," said 
he. " I know you right enough. Well, you 
and your pals have just come in time for 
me to be able to introduce you to Mrs. 

Our guide's .answer was a singular one. 
He snatched off the dark beard which had 
disguised him and threw it on the ground, 
disclosing a long, sallow, clean-shaven face 
below it. Then he raised his revolver and 
covered the young ruffian, who was advancing 
upon him with his dangerous riding crop 
swinging in his hand. 

"Yes," said our ally, "I am Bob 
Carruthers, and I'll see this woman righted 
if I have to swing for it. I told you what 
Td do if you molested her, and, by the Lord, 
I'll be as good as my word ! " 

" You're too late. She's my wife ! " 

" No, she's your widow." 
. His revolver cracked, and I saw the blood 
spurt from the front of Woodley's waistcoat. 
He spun round with a scream and fell upon 
his back, his hideous red face turning sud- 
denly to a dreadful mottled pallor. The old 
man, still clad in his surplice, burst into such 
a string of foul oaths as I have never heard, 
and pulled out a revolver of his own, but 
before he could raise it he was looking down 
the barrel of Holmes's weapon. 

" Enough of this," said my friend, coldly. 
" Drop that pistol ! Watson, pick it up ! 
Hold it to his head ! Thanlf you. You, 
Carruthers, give me that revolver. Well 
have no more violence. Come, hand it 
over ! " 

"Who arerijgjiiKjatlfefiia"!" 




'as we Ai'rtiuACHkii, 


" My name is Sherlock Holmes." 

"Good Lord!" 

"You have heard of me, I see. I will 
represent the official police until their arrival. 
Here, you!" he shouted to a frightened 
groom who had appeared at the edge of 
the glade. "Come here, 'lake this note 
as hard as you ran ride to Kamhanv' He 
scribbled a few words upon a leaf from his 
notebook. "Give it to the superintendent 
at the police-station. Until he comes I 
must detain you all under my personal 
custody,' 1 

The strong, masterful personality of Holmes 
dominated the tragic scene, and all were 
equally puppets in his hands. Williamson 
and Carruthers found themselves carrying 
the wounded Wood ley into the house, and I 
gave my arm to the frightened girl. The 
injured man was laid on his bed, and at 
Holmes's request I examined him, I carried 
my report to where lie sat in the old 
tapestry -hung dining-room with his two 
prisoners before him. 



"He will live," 
said L 

"What! "cried 
springing out of 
hte chair. "Til 
go upstairs and 
finish him first 
Do you tell me 
that that girl, 
that angel, is to 
be tied to Roar- 
ing jack Woodle v 
far fife? n 

" You need 
not concern your- 
self about that," 
said Holmes, 
" There are two 
■ very good reasons 
why she should 
under no circum- 
stances be his 
wife. In the first 
place> we are very 
safe in question- 
ing Mr. William- 
son's right to solemnize a marriage/' 
1 1 haw been ordained," cried the 
old rascal. 

" And also unfrocked," 
" Once a clergyman, always a 

" 1 think not How about the 
license ? n 
"We had a license for the marriage. I 
have it here in my pocket." 

" Then you got it by a trick. But in any 
case a forced marriage is no marriage, but it 
is a very serious felony, as you will discover 
before you have finished. You'll have time 
to think the point out during the next ten 
years or so, unless I am mistaken. As to 
you, Carruthers, you would have done better 
to keep your pistol in your pocket," 

" I begin to think so, Mr, Holmes ; but 
when I thought of all the precaution I had 
taken to shield this girl — for I loved her, Mr, 
Holmes, and it is the only time that ever I 
knew what love was — it fairly drove me mad 
to think that she was in the power of the 
greatest brute and bully in South Africa, a 
man whose name is a holy terror from 
Kimberley to Johannesburg. Why, Mr, 
Holmes, you'll hardly believe it, but ever 
since that girl has been in my employment 
I never once let her go past this house, 
where I knew these rascals were lurking, 
without following her on my bicycle just to 




see that she came to no harm. I kept my 
distance from her, and I wore a beard so 
that she should not recognise me, for she is a 
good and high-spirited girl, and she wouldn't 
have stayed in my employment long if she 
had thought that I was following her about 
the country roads." 
" Why didn't you tell her of her danger ? " 
" Because then, again, she would have left 
me, and I couldn't bear to face that. Even 
if she couldn't love me it was a great deal to 
me just to see her dainty form about the 
house, and to hear the sound of her voice." 

"Well," said I, "you call that love, Mr. 
Carruthers, but I should call it selfishness." 
" Maybe the two things go together. 
Anyhow, I couldn't let her go. Besides, 
with this crowd about, it was well that she 
•should have someone near to look after 
her. Then when the cable came I knew 
thev were bound to make a move." 
"What cable?" 

Carruthers took a telegram from his 
"That's it," said he. 
It was short and concise : — 
"The old man is dead." 
" Hum ! " said Holmes. " I think I see 
how things worked, and I can understand 
how this message would, as you say, bring 
them to a head. But while we wait you 
might tell me what you can." 

The old reprobate with the surplice burst 
into a volley of bad language. 

"By Heaven," said he, "if you squeal on 
us, Bob Carruthers, I'll serve you as you 
served Jack Woodley. You can bleat about 
the girl to your heart's content, for that's 
your own affair, but if you round on your 
pals to this plain-clothes copper it will be 
the worst day's work that ever you did." 

"Your reverence need not be excited," 
said Holmes, lighting a cigarette. " The 
case is clear enough against you, and all I 
ask is a few details for my private curiosity. 
However, if there's any difficulty in your 
telling me I'll do the talking, and then you 
will see how far you have a chance of holding 
back your secrets. In the first place, three 
of you came from South Africa on this game 
— you Williamson, you Carruthers, and 

" Lie number one," said the old man ; " I 
never saw either of them until two months 
ago, and I have never been in Africa in my 
life, so you can put that in your pipe and 
smoke it, Mr. Busybody Holmes ! " 
" What he says is true," said Carruthers. 
"Well, well, two of you came over. His 

reverence is our own home made article. You 
had known Ralph Smith in South Africa. 
You had reason to believe he would not live 
long. You found out that his niece would 
inherit his fortune. How's that — eh ? " 

Carruthers nodded and Williamson swore. 

" She was next-of-kin, no doubt, and you 
were aware that the old fellow would make 
no will." 

" Couldn't read or write," said Carruthers. 

" So you came over, the two of you, and 
hunted up the girl. The idea was that one 
of you was to marry her and the other have 
a share of the plunder. For some reason 
Woodley was chosen as the husband. Why 
was that ? " 

" We played cards for her on the voyage. 
He won." 

" I see. You got the young lady into your 
service, and there W(X)dley was to do the 
courting. She recognised the drunken brute 
that he was, and would have nothing to do 
with him. Meanwhile, your arrangement 
was rather upset by the fact that you had 
yourself fallen in love with the lady. You 
could no longer bear the idea of this ruffian 
owning her." 

" No, by George, I couldn't ! " 

" There was a quarrel between you. He 
left you in a rage, and began to make his 
own plans independently of you." 

" It strikes me, Williamson, there isn't 
very much that we can tell this gentleman," 
cried Carruthers, with a bitter laugh. 
" Yes, we quarrelled, and he knocked 
me down. I am level with him on that, 
anyhow. Then I lost sight of him. That 
was when he picked up with this cast padre 
here. I found that they had set up house- 
keeping together at this place on the line 
that she had to pass for the station. I kept 
my eye on her after that, for I knew there 
was some devilry in the wind. I saw them 
from time to time, for I was anxious to know 
what they were after. Two days ago Woodley* 
came up to my house with this cable, which 
showed that Ralph Smith was dead. He 
asked me if I would stand by the bargain. I 
said I would not. He asked me if I would 
marry the girl myself and give him a share. 
I said I would willingly do so, but that she 
would not have me. He said, ' Let us get 
her married first, and after a week or two she 
may see things a bit different.' I said I 
would have nothing to do with violence. So 
he went off cursing, like the foul-mouthed 
blackguard that he was, and swearing that 
he would have her yet. She was leaving 
me this week-end, and I had got a 




"There is no use/' 
explains one of the 
ladies, "forcing a child 
to romp if it doesn't 
want to romp. Per- 
haps its tastes are in 
quite another direc- 
tion — indeed, we 
know that there are 
thousands of wretched 
little mites in London 
who pine for quiet 
and seclusion. Then 
there are kiddies who 
are passionately fond 
of fairy stones. They 
could listen to them 
by the hour — perhaps 
by the day — yet pos- 
sibly outside of a 
Happy Evening' they 
never hear one that 
really interests dhem. 
Our girls' fairy-teller 
here, 1 may tell you, 
has a wonderful gift 
She really mesmerizes the children/ Would 
you like to be mesmerized, too ? " 

" With all the pleasure in life," we reply, 
and the handle of the fairy-tale room is 


slowly turned. We 
may mention it for a 
fact, and as a tribute 
to the lady's powers, 
that the noise of our 
entrance is absolutely 
without effect on this 
little audience. Oh, 
what would not a pul- 
pit orator, a politician, 
a lecturer — yes, even 
a great actor — give to 
hold his auditors' 
minds thus in the hol- 
low of his hand ? They 
see nothing, hear no- 
thing but the speaker. 
" ^o, so/ cried 
the Genie, in an angry 
voice j * if that is the 
case then you must 
quickly step upon this 
strip of carpet,' And 
he laid a piece of red 
and yellow carpet on 
the ground, 
" £ What for?' asked the young Prince* 
You see, he didn't know about the magic in 
the carpet— nobody had ever told him. 

" ( What for ? ' replied the Genie. * Why, 


Gillman. Oxford, 


<vc Ntumet. ltd. 



market price for a governess, but does not 
keep a horse although six miles from the 
station ? Odd, Watson — very odd I " 

"You will go down?" 

"No, my dear fellow, you will go down. 
This may be some trifling intrigue, and I 
cannot break my other important research for 
the sake of it. On Monday you will arrive 
early at Farnham ; you will conceal yourself 
near Charlington Heath ; you will observe 
these facts for yourself, and act as your own 
judgment advises. Then, having inquired 
as to the occupants of the Hall, you will 
come back to me and report. And now, 
Watson, not another word of the matter until 
we have a few solid stepping-stones on which 
we may hope to get across to our solution." 

We had ascertained from the lady that she 
went down upon the Monday by the train 
which leaves Waterloo at 9.50, so I started 
early and caught the 9.13. At Farnham 
Station I had no difficulty in being directed 
to Charlington Heath. It was impossible to 
mistake the scene of the young lady's 
adventure, for the road runs between the 
open heath on one side and an old yew 
hedge upon the other, surrounding a park 
which is studded with magnificent trees. 
There was a main gateway of lichen-studded 
stone, each side pillar surmounted by 
mouldering heraldic emblems ; but besides 
this central carriage drive I observed several 
points where there were gaps in the hedge 
and paths leading through them. The house 
was invisible from the road, but the sur- 
roundings all spoke of gloom and decay. 

The heath was covered with golden 
patches of flowering gorse, gleaming magni- 
ficently in the light of the bright spring 
sunshine. Behind one of these clumps I 
took up my position, so as to command both 
the gateway of the Hall and a long stretch 
of the road upon either side. It had been 
deserted when I left it, but now I saw a 
cyclist riding down it from the opposite 
direction to that in which I had come. He 
was clad in a dark suit, and I saw that he 
had a black beard. On reaching the end of 
the Charlington grounds he sprang from his 
machine and led it through a gap in the 
hedge, disappearing from my view. 

A quarter of an hour passed and then a 
second cyclist appeared. This time it was 
the young lady coming from the station. I 
saw her look about her as she came to the 
Charlington hedge. An instant later the 
man emerged from his hiding-place, sprang 
upon his cycle, and followed her. In all the 
broad landscape those wer$ the only moving 

figures, the graceful girl sitting very straight 
upon her machine, and the man behind her 
bending low over his handle-bar, with a 
curiously furtive suggestion in every move- 
ment. She looked back at him and slowed 
her pace. He slowed also. She stopped. 
He at once stopped too, keeping two 
hundred yards behind her. Her next move- 
ment was as unexpected as it was spirited. 
She suddenly whisked her wheels round and 
dashed straight at him ! He was as quick as 
she, however, and darted off in desperate 
flight. Presently she came back up the road 
again, her head haughtily in the air, not 
deigning to take any further notice of her 
silent attendant. He had turned also, and 
still kept his distance until the cuive of the 
road hid them from my sight. 

I remained in my hiding-place, and it was 
well that I did so, for presently the man re- 
appeared cycling slowly back. He turned in 
at the Hall gates and dismounted from his 
machine. For some few minutes I could 
see him standing among the trees. His 
hands were raised and he seemed to be 
settling his necktie. Then he mounted his 
cycle and rode away from me down the drive 
towards the Hall. 1 ran across the heath 
and peered through the trees. Far away I 
could catch glimpses of the old grey building 
with its bristling Tudor chimneys, but the 
drive ran through a dense shrubbery, and I 
saw no more of my man. 

However, it seemed to me that I had 
done a fairly good morning's work, and I 
walked back in high spirits to Farnham. 
The local house-agent could tell me nothing 
about Charlington Hall, and referred me 
to a well-known firm in Pall Mall. There I 
halted on my way home, and met with 
courtesy from the representative. No, I 
could not have Charlington Hall for the 
summer. \ was just too late. It had 
been let about a month ago. Mr. William- 
son was the name of the tenant. He was a 
respectable elderly gentleman. The polite 
agent was afraid he could say no more, as 
the affairs of his clients were not matters 
which he could discuss. 

Mr. Sherlock Holmes listened with atten- 
tion to the long report which I was able to 
present to him that evening, but it did not 
elicit that word of curt praise which I had 
hoped for and should have valued. On the 
contrary, his austere face was even more 
severe than usual as he commented upon the 
.things that I had done and the things that 
I had not. 

"Your hidiric-nldicQlTimy dear Watson, 




From a Pkvit>. by\ 


[George Mnme*. Ltd, 

that — of the chalked line. Was ever so 
much sinew built up of stale bread-crusts 
and fried fish before ? But the Byles's Rents 
men — pale, perspiring, and panting ulti- 
mately pulled their rivals across the line and 
on to their knees pell-mell, and the ceiling 
threatened to splinter and send down pounds 
of plaster upon the heads of the spectators 
at shouts over this triumph* It was thrice re- 
peated, and then, to! a few steps and the scene 
had changed and we were in the dolls 1 room. 

Every year in November there is a brave 
show of dolls dressed for the Happy Evenings 
children at Bath House, Piccadilly, and some 
of these dolls were here now, tended, oh, so 
gently, almost worshipped, as they are taken 
out of their cupboard resting-places and 
dressed and undressed. 

" Please, lady, may I ? ave the fairy doll 
next time?' 1 pleaded a golden-haired little 
child, with an earnest, wistful look. 

" Yes, if your hands are the cleanest 

Frvm * J 'Mo. byj 






of my situation;. On Saturday I come up to 
town and I do -not intent! to, return. Ml 
Carruthers has got a trap, and so the dangers 
of the lonely, road, if there ever were any 
dangers, arc now over* 

"As to the .special cause of my leaving, it 
is not merely the strained situation with Mr, 
Carruthers, but it is the reappearance of that 
odious man, \fa% Wood ley. He was always 
hideous^ but he looks more awful than ever 
now T for he appears to have had an accident 
and he is much disfigured, I saw him out 
of the window, but I am glad to say 1 did 
not meet him. He had a long talk with Mr. 
Carruthers, who seemed much excited after- 
wards. Woodley must be staying in the 
neighbourhood, for he did not sleep here, 
and yet I caught a glimpse of him again this 
morning slinking about in the shrubbery, I 
would sooner have a savage wild animal 
loose about the place. I loathe and fear 
him more than I can say. How 

VoL urni.— 2. 

v '""" xlr 

Carruthers endure such a 
creature for a moment ? 
However, all my troubles 
will be over on Saturday/' 
"So I trust, Watson; 
so I trust," said Holmes, 
gravely, " There is some 
deep* intrigue going on 
round that little woman, 
and it is our duty to see 
that no one molests her 
upon that last journey, I 
think, Watson* that we 
must spare time to run 
down together on Satur- 
day morning, and make 
sure that this curious and 
inconclusive investigation 
has no untoward end- 

I confess that I had 
not up to now taken a 
very serious view of the 
case, which had seemed 
to me rather grotesque 
and bizarre than danger- 
ous. That a man should 
lie in wait for and follow 
a very handsome woman 
is no unheard of thing, 
and if he had so little 
audacity that he not 
only dared not address 
her* but even fled from 
her approach, he was 
not a very formidable 
assailant. The ruffian 
Woodley was a very different person, but, 
except on the one occasion, he had not 
molested our client, and now he visited the 
house of Carruthers without intruding upon 
her presence. The man on the bicycle was 
doubtless a member of those week end 
parties at the Hall of which the publican 
had spoken ; but who he was or what 1 he 
wanted was as obscure as ever. It was the 
severity of Holmes's manner and the fact 
that he slipped a revolver into his pocket 
before leaving our rooms which impressed 
me with the feeling that tragedy might 
prove to lurk behind this curious train of 

A rainy night had been followed by a 
glorious morning, and the heath-covered 
country-side with the glowing clumps of 
flowering gorse seemed all the more beautiful 
to eyes which were weary of the duns and 
drabs and slate-greys of I-ondon, Holmes 
and I walked along the broad, sandy road 




obvious that it is music You observe the 
spatulate finger-end, Watson, which is com- 
mon to both professions ? There is a 
spirituality about the face, however "—he 
gently turned it towards the light — ''which 
the typewriter does not generate. This lady 
is a musician/ 1 

"Yes, Mr, Holmes, I teach music." 

" In the country! I presume, from your 

" Yes, sir ; near Farnham, on the borders 
of Surrey." 

"A beautiful neighbourhood and full of 
the most interesting associations. You re- 
member, Watson, that it was near there 
that we took. Archie Stamford, the forger. 
Now, Miss Violet, what has happened 
to you near Farnham, on the borders of 
Surrey ? " 

The young lady, with great clearness and 
composure, made the following curious state- 
ment : — 

" My father is dead, Mr Holmes. He 
was James Smith, who conducted the 
orchestra at the old Imperial Theatre. My 
mother and I were left without a relation 
in the world except one uncle, Ralph Smith, 
who went to Africa twenty-live years ago> 
and we have never had a word from him 


since- When father 
died we were left 
very poor, but one 
day we were told 
that there was an 
advertisement in 
the Times inquir- 
ing for our where- 
abouts, You can 
imagine how ex- 
cited we were, for 
we thought that 
someone had left 
us a fortune. We 
went at once to 
the lawyer whose 
name was given in 
the paper. There 
we met two gentle- 
men, Mr, Carru- 
thers and Mr. 
Woodley, who were home 
on a visit from South 
Africa, They said that 
my uncle was a friend of 
theirs, that he died some 
months before in great 
poverty in Johannesburg, 
and that he had asked 
them with his last breath 
to hunt up his relations and see that they 
were in no want. It seemed strange to us 
that Uncle Ralph, who took no notice of us 
when he was alive, should be so careful to 
look after us when he was dead ; but Mr. 
Carruthers explained that the reason was that 
my uncle had just heard of the death of his 
brother, and so felt responsible for our fate." 
"Excuse me," said Holmes; "when was 
this interview ? " 

" IjSlhI December - four months ago." 
il Pray proceed." 

* k Mr, Woodley seemed to me to he a most 

odious person. He was for ever making eyes 
at me — a coarse, puffy-faced, red-moustaehed 
young man, with his hair plastered down on 
each side of his forehead, I thought that he 
was perfectly hateful — and I was sure that 
Cyril would not wish me to know such a 

"Oh, Cyril is his name!" said Holmes, 

The young lady blushed and laughed. 

"Yes, Mr, Holmes; Cyril Morton, an 
electrical engineer, and we hope to be 
married at the end of the summer- Dear 
me, how did I get talking about him ? What 
I wished to say was that Mr. Woodley was 
perfectly MftiCB^I fn&nthat Mr. Carruthers, 




who was a much older man, was more 
agreeable. He was a dark, sallow, clean- 
shaven, silent person ; but he had polite 
manners and a pleasant smile. He inquired 
how we were left, and on finding that we 
were very poor he suggested that I should 
come and teach music to his only daughter, 
aged ten. I said that I did not like to leave 
my mother, on which he suggested that I 
should go home to her every week-end, and 
he offered me a hundred a year, which was 
certainly splendid pay. So it ended by 
my accepting, and I went down to 
Chiltern Grange, about six miles from 
Farnham. Mr. Carruthers was a widower, 
but he had engaged a lady -housekeeper, 
a very respectable, elderly person, called 
Mrs. Dixon, to look after his establishment 
The child was a dear, and everything 
promised well. Mr. Carruthers was very 
kind and very musical, and we had most 
pleasant evenings together. Every week- 
end I went home to my mother in town. 

"The first flaw in my happiness was the 
arrival of the red-moustached Mr. Woodley. 
He came for a visit of a week, and oh, it 
seemed three months to me ! He was a 
dreadful person, a bully to everyone else, 
but to me something infinitely worse. He 
made odious love to me, boasted of his 
wealth, said that if I married him I would 
have the finest diamonds in London, and 
finally, when I would have nothing to do with 
him, he seized me in his arms one day after 
dinner — he was hideously strong — and he 
swore that he would not let me go until I had 
kissed him. Mr. Carruthers came in and 
tore him off from me, on which he turned 
upon his own host, knocking him down and 
cutting his face open. That was the end of 
his visit, as you can imagine. Mr. Carruthers 
apologized to me next day, and assured me 
that I should never be exposed to such an 
insult again. I have not seen Mr. Woodley 

"And now, Mr. Holmes, I come at last to 
the special thing which has caused me to ask 
your advice to-day. You must know that 
every Saturday forenoon I ride on my bicycle 
to Farnham Station in order to get the 12.22 
to town. The road from Chiltern Grange 
is a lonely one, and at one spot it is 
particularly so, for it lies for over a mile 
between Charlington Heath upon one side 
and the woods which lie round Charlington 
Hall upon the other. You could not 
find a more lonely tract of road anywhere, 
and it is quite rare to meet so much as a 
cart, or a peasant, until you reach the high 

road near Crooksbury Hill. Two weeks ago 
I was passing this place when I chanced to 
look back over my shouldfer, and about two 
hundred yards behind me I saw a man, also 
on a bicycle. He seemed to be a middle- 
aged man, with a short, dark beard. I looked 
back before I reached Farnham, but the man 
was gone, so I thought no more about it. 
But you can imagine how surprised I was, 
Mr. Holmes, when on my return on the 
Monday I saw the same man on the same 
stretch of road. My astonishment was in- 
creased when the incident occurred again, 
exactly as before, on the following Saturday 
and Monday. He always kept his distance 
and did not molest me in any way, but still 
it certainly was very odd. I mentioned 
it to Mr. Carruthers, who seemed interested 
in what I said, and told me that he had 
ordered a horse and trap, so that in future I 
should not pass over these lonely roads with- 
out some companion. 

"The horse and trap were to have come this 
week, but for some reason they were not 
delivered, and again I had to cycle to the 
station. That was this morning. You can 
think that I looked out when I came to 
Charlington Heath, and there, sure enough, 
was the man, exactly as he had been the two 
weeks before. He always kept so far from 
me that I could not clearly see his face, but it 
was certainly someone whom I did not know. 
He was dressed in a dark suit with a cloth 
cap. The only thing about his face that I 
could clearly see was his dark beard. To-day 
I was not alarmed, but I was filled with 
curiosity, and I determined to find out 
who he was and what he wanted. I slowed 
down my machine, but he slowed down his. 
Then I stopped altogether, but he stopped 
also. Then I laid a trap for him. There is 
a sharp turning of the road, and I pedalled 
very quickly round this, and then I stopped 
and waited. I expected him to shoot round 
and pass me before he could stop. But he 
never appeared. Then I went back and 
looked round the corner. I could see a mile 
of road, but he was not on it. To make it the 
more extraordinary, there was no side road at 
this point down which he could have gone." 

Holmes chuckled and rubbed his hands. 
" This case certainly presents some features 
of its own," said he. " How much time 
elapsed between your turning the corner and 
your discovery that the road was clear ? " 

"Two or three minutes." 

" Then he could not have retreated down 
the road, and you sav that there are no side 
roads ? " L ngi 


n ■ 



From n Fkato. bit E. W. Emm. 

of Jersey, and among its helpers Lire the 
Marchioness of Zetland, I^ady Ludlow, Lady 
Cadogan, I*ady Iddesleigh, Mrs. liland-Sut- 
ton t etc. Moreover, the children of the rich 
are brought to serve the children of the poor, 
the example being set by children no less 
highly placed than the little Princes and the 
little Princess at Marlborough House, whose 
dolls and toys Find their way into the Happy 
Evenings gatherings. When little Prircj 
Edward first heard of the Happy Evenings 
he turned to his Royal mamma and said ;— 

il Mayn't I give my helmet and breast- 
plate? It's such good fun to dress up as a 
soldier. I'm sure those little boys would 
like it," And so a little gamin was pointed 
out to us at a Happy Evening, prancing 

about in the martial and metallic raiment 
which had lately enclosed the person of 
another boy the future King of England 

St j mi: wjg has called these gatherings 
"Juvenile Parties for Guttersnipes," and 

although the 
secretary natur- 
ally resents the 
terms of such 
description f yet 
{>erhaps, on the 
whole, It gives 
a fair idea to 
the average 
observer of 
what these 
gatherings really 
mean. " We do 
not, however, 
aim at making 
our Happy 
Evenings a 
juvenile party. 
We try and 
make the pas- 
times of the chil- 
dren approxi- 
mate closely to 
those of a well- 
ordered nursery 
or school-room, 
and the children 
are encouraged 
to vafv their 


amusements on 
their own initiative, and to choose by prefer- 
ence those games which involve co-operation." 
Occasionally the elder children get together 



>t. *-:■;■«. 



market price for a governess, but does not 
keep a horse although six miles from the 
station ? Odd, Watson — very odd ! " 

"You will go down?" 

"No, my dear fellow, you will go down. 
This may be some trifling intrigue, and I 
cannot break my other important research for 
the sake of it. On Monday you will arrive 
early at Farnham ; you will conceal yourself 
near Charlington Heath ; you will observe 
these facts for yourself, and act as your own 
judgment advises. Then, having inquired 
as to the occupants of the Hall, you will 
come back to me and report. And now, 
Watson, not another word of the matter until 
we have a few solid stepping-stones on which 
we may hope to get across to our solution." 

We had ascertained from the lady that she 
went down upon the Monday by the train 
which leaves Waterloo at 9.50, so I started 
early and caught the 9.13. At Farnham 
Station I had no difficulty in being directed 
to Charlington Heath. It was impossible to 
mistake the scene of the young lady's 
adventure, for the road runs between the 
open heath on one side and an old yew 
hedge upon the other, surrounding a park 
which is studded with magnificent trees. 
There was a main gateway of lichen-studded 
stone, each side pillar surmounted by 
mouldering heraldic emblems ; but besides 
this central carriage drive I observed several 
points where there were gaps in the hedge 
and paths leading through them. The house 
was invisible from the road, but the sur- 
roundings all spoke of gloom and decay. 

The heath was covered with golden 
patches of flowering gorse, gleaming magni- 
ficently in the light of the bright spring 
sunshine. Behind one of these clumps I 
took up my position, so as to command both 
the gateway of the Hall and a long stretch 
of the road upon either side. It had been 
deserted when I left it, but now I saw a 
cyclist riding down it from the opposite 
direction to that in which I had come. He 
was clad in a dark suit, and I saw that he 
had a black beard. On reaching the end of 
the Charlington grounds he sprang from his 
machine and led it through a gap in the 
hedge, disappearing from my view. 

A quarter of an hour passed and then a 
second cyclist appeared. This time it was 
the young lady coming from the station. I 
saw her look about her as she came to the 
Charlington hedge. An instant later the 
man emerged from his hiding-place, sprajig 
.upon his cycle, and followed her. In all the 
broad landscape those were-the only moving 

figures, the graceful girl sitting very straight 
upon her machine, and the man behind her 
bending low over his handle-bar, with a 
curiously furtive suggestion in every move- 
ment. She looked back at him and slowed 
her pace. He slowed also. She stopped. 
He at once stopped too, keeping two 
hundred yards behind her. Her next move- 
ment was as unexpected as it was spirited. 
She suddenly whisked her wheels round and 
dashed straight at him ! He was as quick as 
she, however, and darted off in desperate 
flight. Presently she came back up the road 
again, her head haughtily in the air, not 
deigning to take any further notice of her 
silent attendant. He had turned also, and 
still kept his distance until the curve of the 
road hid them from my sight. 

I remained in my hiding-place, and it was 
well that I did so, for presently the man re- 
appeared cycling slowly back. He turned in 
at the Hall gates and dismounted from his 
machine. For some few minutes I could 
see him standing among the trees. His 
hands were raised and he seemed to be 
settling his necktie. Then he mounted his 
cycle and rode away from me down the drive 
towards the Hall. 1 ran across the heath 
and peered through the trees. Far away I 
could catch glimpses of the old grey building 
with its bristling Tudor chimneys, but the 
drive ran through a dense shrubbery, and I 
saw no more of my man. 

However, it seemed to me that I had 
done a fairly good morning's work, and I 
walked back in high spirits to Farnham. 
The local house-agent could tell me nothing 
about Charlington Hall, and referred me 
to a well-known firm in Pall Mall. There I 
halted on my way home, and met with 
courtesy from the representative. No, I 
could not have Charlington Hall for the 
summer. \ was just too late. It had 
been let about a month ago. Mr. William- 
son was the name of the tenant. He was a 
respectable elderly gentleman. The polite 
agent was afraid he could say no more, as 
the affairs of his clients were not matters 
which he could discuss. 

Mr. Sherlock Holmes listened with atten- 
tion to the long report which I was able to 
present to him that evening, but it did not 
elicit that word of curt praise which I had 
hoped for and should have valued. On the 
contrary, his austere face was even more 
severe than usual as he commented upon the 
.things that I had done and the things that 
I had not. 

"Your hidnipplapBjTi my dear Watson, 


By Archibald Marshall. 


tIKN young Lord Otterbum 
vowed before the altar of 
Grace Church, ri4th Avenue, 
t Chicago, to endow Miss Sadie 
M. Cutts with all his worldly 
goods, that fortunate young 
lady obtained a husband of attractive appear- 
ance, agreeable manners, and a sweet temper ; 
a coronet, a beautiful but dilapidated castle 
in Northumberland, surrounded by an unpro- 
ductive estate, and a share in the family 
attentions of Aunt Sarah, In exchange for 
these blessings she brought, as her contribu- 
tion to the happiness of the married state, a 
warm appreciation of her husband's good 
qualities, a dowry which, when reckoned in 
dollars, touched seven figures, a frank and 
fearless character, and a total ignorance of the 
importance of Aunt Sarah in the domestic 
well-being of the noble house of Otterbum. 

She was not left long in ignorance on 
this point. She had only had time to 
refurnish the whole of Castle Gide, to 
instal electric light, to rebuild the stables, 
adapting part of them to the requirements of 
a stud of motor-cars, to take the gardens in 
hand, and to relet most of the farms, when 
Aunt Sarah was upon the newly-married 
couple with a proposal for a visit. 

Digitized by Google 

" And who is Aunt Sarah, anyway ? " in- 
quired Lady Otterbum, when her husband 
handed her that lady's letter over the break- 

" Aunt Sarah," replied Otterbum, " is the 
bane of the existence of all the members of 
my family who can afford to keep their heads 
above water. 71 

" Sounds kind of cheering," observed her 
ladyship. "How does she get her clutch 

u She proposes herself for short visits, and 
has never been known to leave any house 
where the cooking is decent and the beds 
comfortable under a month. She is my 
Unele GtterbunVs widow, and, having been 
left exceedingly poor, exercises the right of 
demanding bed and board from members 
of my family in rotation as often as it is 
convenient to her/ J 

11 If she's poor," said Lady Otterbum, " it 
won't harm us to give her a shake-down and 
a sandwich or two as often as she wants 'em. 
I apprehend she'll make herself agreeable in 

"That's where you make a mistake," 
replied Otterbum. " Aunt Sarah has never 
been known to make herself agreeable in her 
life. In fact, she prides herself upon doing 
the reverse..-. She'll . tell you before you have 








a j 





' i 










known her two minutes that she always says 
what she thinks. And she won't be telling 
vou a liei" 

"Two can play at that game," said I^ady 
Otterburn. "Most times I sav what I think 

** But you only think pleasant things," 
replied her husband, u My flower of the 
prairie ! w 

Now, Chicago is not exactly a prairie, but 
the young Countess of Otterburn was pretty 
and graceful enough to deserve the most 
high-flown compliments, and appreciated 
them when they came from her husband. 
She therefore graciously accepted his latest 
flight of imagination, and told him to write 
to Aunt Sarah and invite her to come to 
Castle Gide and stay 
as long as she found 
it convenient. 

Aunt Sarah came a 
week later with a con- 
siderable amount of 
luggage, but no maid 
The motor - omnibus 
was sent to the station 
to meet her, in spite 
of her nephew's warn- 

" Shell arrive as 
cross as can be," he 
said. " She hates 
motors of every de- 
scription, and I don't 
suppose has ever been 
on one in her life," 

* c Then it's time she 
tried it," said Lady 
Otterburn. "There 
isn't a horse in the 
place that could draw 
a buggy fourteen miles 
to the depot and back 
and bring her here in 
time for dinner." 

"Wei!, you'll see," 
said Otterburn, "Shell 
tell us what she thinks 
of us when she gets 

She did The power- 
ful motor-omnibus 

drew up before the door of Castle Gide — at 
which Lord and Lady Otterburn were stand- 
ing to receive their guest — having completed 
the seven-mile journey from the station in 
about five-and-twenty minutes. The driver 
and the footman beside him wore expressions 
of apprehensive discomfort, and the latter 

Vol, nK^ii.— 4* 

giiized by L^OOgle 

jumped down off his seat to open the door 
at the back of the vehicle with some alacrity. 

There emerged a tall and formidable- 
looking old lady, with an aquiline nose and 
abundant, well -arranged grey hair. She 
wore an imposing bonnet and a dress not 
of the latest fashion, which rustled richly* 
There was a cloud on her magnificent brow, 
her mouth was firmly closed, and she showed 
no signs of agreeable feeling at arriving thus 
at her journey's end 

"How do you do, Aunt Sarah ? " said 
Otterburn, hastening down the steps to greet 
her. " Very pleased to see you again. Hope 
the old 'bus brought you along comfortably." 

" No, Edward," replied Aunt Sarah, rigidly, 
44 the old 'bus, as you term it, did not bring 


me along comfortably. I had vowed never 
to trust myself to one of these detestable 
new inventions, and I am surprised at your 
sending such a contrivance to meet me. 
This, I suppose, is your wife. How do you 
do, my lady ? I shall probably be able to 
tell better how I like your appearance when 




I have recovered from the perilous journey 
to which I have been subjected. I should 
like to be shown at once to my room. I am 
much too upset by my late experience to 
think of joining you downstairs to-night." 

"Why, certainly," said Lady Otterburn. 
"I'll take you upstairs,, and you shall have 
your supper just when and how you please — 
right here and now if you prefer it. I want 
that you should make yourself at home in 
this house." 

Aunt Sarah transfixed her with a haughty 

" Considering that this house was my home 
for five-and-thirty years," she said, " I think 
I can promise to do that. Thank you, Lady 
Otterburn. I will not detain you any longer. 
This was the third best bachelor's room in 
my day ; I know my way about it well. No 
doubt you have other more important guests 
for whom the better rooms are reserved. I 
will wish you good-night" 

11 My ! " said the Countess of Otterburn, 
on the other side of a firmly-closed door. 
41 She's a peach!" 

II. . 

The most consistently disagreeable people 
are not without their moments of relenting, 
and Aunt Sarah came downstairs about noon 
of the following day in a far better humour 
than she had carried to her room on her 
arrival at Castle Gide. In the first place she 
had discovered that the erstwhile bachelor 
rooms had been converted into a perfect 
little suite, with the appointments of which 
even a luxury - loving old lady determined 
to find fault with everything could hardly 
quarrel. During her voluntary seclusion 
she had been made as comfortable and 
waited on as well as if she were a rich 
woman in her own house, and the little 
dinner which had been served to her in the 
privacy of her own bijou salon was far 
superior to any meal that had ever been 
served to her before in Castle Gide, even 
when she had been mistress of it. Morning 
tea, therefore, found Aunt Sarah mollified, 
a dainty breakfast served to put her almost 
into an attitude of peace and goodwill 
towards mankind, and a glass of pale sherry 
and a dry biscuit after her toilet had been 
made and the morning papers read sent her 
downstairs with the definite intention of 
being civil to her nephew's wife, whom she 
had come to Castle Gide prepared cordially 
to hate. 

This frame of mind lasted for several 
hours. Lady Otterburn devoted herself to 
the old lady's entertainment, and, to her 

husband's unconcealed astonishment, roused 
more than once a grim chuckle of amuse- 
ment, as she rattled her clever Transatlantic 
tongue across the luncheon-table. Aunt 
Sarah pleased ! Aunt Sarah laughing ! Aunt 
Sarah allowing someone else to monopolize 
the conversation ! He had known her all 
his life, but such a spectacle had hitherto 
been denied him. 

" My dear, you're a marvel," he said to his 
American countess when luncheon was over 
and Aunt Sarah had retired to her own 
apartments, Still in high good - humour. 
"You bowled me over the first time we 
met. That was nothing. But Aunt Sarah ! 
I couldn't have believed it possible. I wish 
I had asked all my uncles and aunts and 
cousins to see it." 

" You don't know enough to run when 
you're in a hurry," replied Lady Otterburn. 
" You'd find her a real beautiful woman if 
you all took her the right way." 

"Well, we shall see," said Otterburn. 
" You've had a grand success so far, but the 
experience of years teaches me that seasons 
of calm in Aunt Sarah's life are not lasting. 
Much depends on the afternoon nap." 

Alas ! Aunt Sarah's afternoon nap was a 
troubled one. It may have been the lobster 
salad, of which she had eaten too largely ; it 
may have been the iced hock-cup, of which 
she had drunk too freely, that disturbed her 
slumbers. Whatever it was she came down 
again what time the tea-table was spread in 
the hall with her usual inclination to make 
herself disagreeable strongly in the ascendant, 
and, if possible, augmented by the reaction 
from her previous state of amiability. The 
first audacious sally made by her hostess, 
which would have been received with tolerant 
amusement at the luncheon-table, only drew 
a scandalized glare from Aunt Sarah, and 
the ominous words : " I must ask you to 
remember in whose presence you find your- 
self, if you please." 

Lady Otterburn may have been surprised 
at this sudden change of atmosphere, but 
she seemed entirely unconcerned, and took 
no notice of her husband's surreptitious kick 
underneath the tea-table, which said as plain 
as speech, " I told you so." She talked with 
gay wit, but gave no opportunity for a further 
rebuke. But Aunt Sarah's twisted temper 
was not to be softened by the most search- 
ing tact, and her next contribution to the 
sociability of the occasion was the remark, 
" This tea is positively not fit to drink. In 
my day Withers would not have dared to 
keep such stuff In his shop," 




u He doiVt keep it now," answered her 
hostess. '* I have it bought in China and 
shipped o% T erland. It costs tour dollars the 
pound. " 

** I have no doubt it is expensive/* retorted 
Aunt Sarah, "although there is no occasion 
to poke your money down my throat. It is 
the way it is made. No servant can be 
trusted to make tea* I always have two tea- 
pots and make it myself- I find it is never 
Jit to drink unless I do so/' 

11 I'd just love to have you make some 
for yourself/* said Lady Otterburn, 
"I'll ring the hell lor two more 
teapots. Its too had you shouldn't 
have it as you like it." 

reminded himself that his experience did not 
aflbrd a precedent for her apologizing for any 
word of blame that may have fallen from her 
lips. But he had no time to ponder on these 
things. Developments were proceeding. 

" You find it a good plan always to say what 
you think?* 1 asked Lady Otter burn/ sweetly. 

" It is the only honest plan/ 5 replied Aunt 
Sarah. ll If everybody would do it instead 
of telling lies on all occasions, great or small, 
there would be a good deal less hypocrisy in 
the world titan there is now," 


Aunt Sarah, who was secretly rather 
ashamed of having mistaken cara van -borne 
tea for that sold by the village grocer, suffered 
herself to l>e softened again, and became 
almost amiable when her hostess insisted 
upon drinking from the fresh brew which was 
presently made, and declared that it was a 
great improvement on the old. 

"I think it is better/' admitted Aunt 
Sarah. " I may say that I have never yet 
met anyone who could make tea as I can. 
You will excuse me for having commented 
on yours, but, as Edward knows, I always say 
what I think." 

Edward did know it to his cost But 

again he was astonished at the sight of Aunt 

Sarah charmed back to good-humour when 

apparently in one of her most relentless 

moods and with further astonishment he 


" Well, I guess you are right," said I-ady 
Otterburn. "I guess Ml commence right 
away and follow your example. And so will 
Edward. Now, mind, Edward, don ? t you 
dare to say a single word that you don't mean, 
and just you tell your Aunt Sarah exactly 
what you think as long as she's with us. 
And so will I. And all the people who are 
coming this evening shall be told to do the 

"Eh? What?" exclaimed Aunt Sarah. 


When Aunt Sarah came down into the great 
hall at twenty minutes to nine that evening 
she found it full of young men and women 
who had arrived about an hour before, and 
whom she had kept waiting ten minutes for 
their dinr^j^j^j^^^p^iot apologize for her 




late appearance. That was not her custom- 
She singled out a young man of the company 
and said, " How do you do, Henry ? I am 
pleased to see you at Castle Gide again. You 
used to come here frequently in happier 

"They were not happier times for me, 
Aunt Sarah," replied the young man T rather 
nervously, " My chief recollection of them is 
that I was generally sent to bed before dinner 
forgetting into mischief," 

" Ah ! " said Aunt Sarah. " That is the way 
to treat mischievous boys. And you don't 
bear malice." 

" I am afraid I do," said the young man. 
" [ was treated most unjustly." 

" By whom, pray ? " inquired Aunt Sarah, 
beginning to bridle. 

A * Very occasionally by Uncle Otter burn," 
said the young man. " Invariably by you." 

inquired Aunt Sarah, as she took her 
nephew's arm. 

No member of the party with the exception 
of Aunt Sarah had reached middle-age. Most 
of the men were contemporaries of Otter- 
bum's, the years of whose pilgrimage were 
thirty. Some of them were married and had 
their wives with them, but the majority were 
unattached, and there were several girls, 
some English and some American. Otter- 
burn's grouse -moors were the ostensible ex- 
cuse for their finding themselves collected at 
Castle Gide, but they were so well mixed 
that they would probably have succeeded in 
enjoying themselves even if there had been 
no shooting to occupy the days. There was 
a regular hubbub of conversation round the 
dinner- table on this first evening, and loud 
peals of laughter, rising above the din and 
clatter of twenty tongues all moving at once, 


"Upon my word !" exclaimed Aunt Sarah. 
"That is a pretty way to talk ! " 

" He must say what he thinks, you know/' 
said Lady Otterburn. *' YYe are all going to 
play at that as long as we are together. Any- 
body who is convicted of an insincere speech 
is to pay half a crown to the hospital fund. 
Here is the box. It contains a contribution 
from Edward, who told Lady Griselda that 
she was not at all late when she came down 
five minutes ago, Edward, take Aunt Sarah 
in to dinner. She has kept us waiting for 
nearly a quarter of an hour," 

" Have I got into a company of lunatics?" 

seemed to indicate that Lady OtterbumV 
game was adding to the gaiety of the 

** No> ,? said a demure young lady, in answer 
to a request from her neighbour. "I will 
not play accompaniments for you after 
dinner, It is quite true, as you say. that I 
read music extraordinarily well I have 
always politely denied it before, but I know I 
do. Your singing, however, is so distasteful 
to me that I am sorry I cannot oblige you." 

" I have got a good voice," said her neigh- 
bour, " and I have studied under the best 
masters. " Ori g i n a I f ro m 




" You have not profited by your studies," 
replied the lady ; " and your voice, so far 
from being good, is very thin and of no 
quality whatsoever." 

i4 I guess," said a fair American, surveying 
the company, "that we're a good-looking 
crowd round this table. And, among all the 
women, I have a conviction that I go up for 
the beauty prize. I have had to hug that 
conviction in secret for a very long time, and 
now it's out." 

Thus and thus was the House of Truth 
built up stone by stone, and Aunt Sarah's 
position was pitia- 
hje, Hitherto she 
had made her mark 
in whatever society 
she found herself 
by sheer insistence 
on her right to be 
frankly and criti- 
cally disagreeable. 
On any ordinary 
occasion she would 
have had the whole 
tableful of young 
people prostrate 
under the terror of 
her biting tongue, 
and not a whit 
would she have 
cared for conse- 
quent unpopularity 
so long as she had 
made herself 
acknowledged as 
the dominating 
spirit of the assem- 
bly. Now she was 
met and foiled by 
the dexterous use 
of the very weapons 
which she had 
wielded so long and 
so unmercifully, 
and no arrogant 
speech could she 

make but its sting was removed by an 
equally outspoken reply* 

Thus, to her right-hand neighbour, a 
young man with smooth black hair and a 

preternatural ly solemn face: "I don't know 

who you are, but by your long upper lip I 

should judge you to be a Mortimer." 
" My name and appearance are both 

undoubtedly Mortimer," he replied, gravely. 

11 My character, I am happy to say, is not," 
u Perhaps you do not know*," said Aunt 

Sarah, " that I am a Mortimer ? " 


"I am perfectly aware of it/' was the 
answer. " It would cost me half a crown to 
congratulate you on the fact." 

" And may I ask what fault you have to 
find with the family whose name you have 
the honour of hearing ? " 

44 They are insufferably cantankerous and 

" Not all of them," interrupted Otterburn, 
anxious above all desire for unsullied truth 
to avert the impending storm which was 
gathering around him. " You must not take 
his criticisms as personal, Aunt Sarah." 

" Pass the box 
this way," said the 
solemn young man. 
"Otterburn will 
contribute another 

Before dinner was 
half-w T ay through 
Aunt Sarah w T as in 
as black a rage as 
had ever darkened 
even her Olympian 
brow. By the time 
the ladies left the 
room she had de- 
livered herself of 
as many insulting 
speeches as it 
usually took her a 
day to achieve, and 
her average output 
was no small one. 
But it w T as all to no 
purpose. Her most 
ambitious eflbrts, 
instead of striking 
a chill of terror to 
the hearts of her 
listeners, were 
warmly applauded, 
with an air of the 
utmost politeness^ 
and from every 
quarter she received 
as good as she gave. It took her some time 
to realize that she was affording considerable 
amusement to her nephew's guests 3 but when 
she did arrive at that state of knowledge she 
could hardly command herself sufficiently to 
leave the room without doing bodily hurt 
to someone* 

"I will not stand this insolent behaviour 
any longer,' she said to Lady Otterburn 
when the door of the dining-room had been 
closed behind them, " How dare you treat 
me in this way ? T " 


SHE SAri>/' 



" Why, bless me, Aunt Sarah," exclaimed 
Lady Otterburn, in well -feigned surprise, 
"you said yourself that if everyone spoke 
the truth always, as you pride yourself on 
doing, it would be a real lovely thing. We 
are all speaking the truth under a penalty, 
and you are speaking it so well that you 
haven't been fined once." 

14 Psshtschah ! " is the nearest possible 
orthographic rendering of the exclamation of 
contempt and disgust that forced itself from 
Aunt Sarah's lips. "I have had enough of 
this insensate folly," she continued. " I shall 
go straight to my room, and if I do not 
receive more respectful treatment in this 
house, where I so long reigned as undisputed 
mistress, I shall leave it to-morrow. Do you 
understand me ? " 

"I understand you very well," said Lady 
Otterburn. " And I will ask ypu to try and 
understand me. The respect which you 
demanded as mistress of this house is now 
due to me, and I look to receive it from my 
guests. If you discover that it is not within 
your power to grant it I shall not press you 
to prolong your visit." 

Aunt Sarah again gave vent to the excla- 
mation indicated above, and sailed up the 
broad staircase to her own apartments with 
anger and disgust marked on every line and 
curve of her figure. 

Aunt Sarah had never been so angry before 
in her life. She was an extraordinarily dis- 
agreeable old woman — disagreeable in a 
masterly, cold-blooded, incisive way, partly 
because disagreeable speech was a genuine 
expression of her nature, partly because she 
had discovered in the course of years that 
she gained more by being disagreeable, which 
came easy to her, than by being pleasant, 
which did not. One of the weapons of 
her armoury was the feigning of anger, 
and few could stand upright before her 
wrath. But for this very reason she had 
seldom been opposed in such a way as 
to make her really angry, and now that 
this had happened to her she was almost 
beside herself with rage. 

When she reached the cosy little sitting- 
room which had been devoted to her 
special use, having closed the door with a 
bang which re-echoed along the corridors, 
she found herself surrounded by just that 
atmosphere of personal comfort in which 
her sybaritic old soul delighted. A cheerful 
fire burned in the grate. Before it was 
drawn up the easiest of easy chairs. At 
the side of the chair stood a table upon 


which was a tray containing those refresh- 
ments, solid and liquid, with which Aunt Sarah 
loved best to fortify herself for the hours of 
darkness, a collection of papers and maga- 
zines, and half-a-dozen new books. The gay 
chintz curtains were close-drawn, and the 
electric lights behind their rosy shades threw 
just the right amount of light upon this 
pleasant interior. 

Aunt Sarah had often before left a com- 
pany of people in displeasure and retired to 
her own apartment with a bang of the door 
behind her. But once shut in by herself the 
expression of her face had usually changed, 
and with a grim chuckle at her own astute- 
ness, and the remembrance of her effective 
departure, she had settled herself down with 
a mind wiped clean of emotion to the enjoy- 
ment of her own society. 

But to-night Aunt Sarah took no delight 
in her own society, nor did her angry old face 
change as she closed the door on the cosy- 
warmth of her room. It is true that she sat 
down in the easy chair in front of the fire. 
Women do not pace the room in their rage 
as is the custom with men. All the same, a 
consuming rage held her. It had in it a tinge 
of helplessness, and it shook her wiry old 
frame like an ague. Aunt Sarah was beaten, 
and she had the sense to recognise it. 

By-and-by she began to feel rather alarmed 
at her state of mind. Helpless anger is not a 
soothing emotion, and Aunt Sarah, in spite of 
her well -nourished vigour, was an old woman. 
It was very uncomfortable to be so angry, and 
it was still more uncomfortable to realize that 
her power of keeping her 'own personality in 
the ascendant had been wrested from her by 
"a chit of a low-born foreigner," as she 
expressed it to herself. 

When her anger had tired her sufficiently 
the feeling of helplessness increased, and 
sorely against her will Aunt Sarah began to 
pity herself. She fought against the feeling 
of self-pity for some time — she was made of 
sterner stuff than those who cherish it as a 
mild luxury — but it overpowered her at last. 
She suddenly saw herself old and, for all 
her many relations and acquaintances, 
friendless — worse than friendless, feared and 
disliked. She was also, for the time being, 
homeless. She had let her little box of a 
house in London for the winter, and had in- 
tended to stay at Castle Gide for at least a 
month. If she carried out her threat of leaving 
the next morning she had nowhere to go to, 
and she was accustomed to run things so close 
that she actually had not the money to take 
her to some place suitable to her exalted 




station and to keep herself there for four 

Then she suddenly realized that in the 
depths of her queer, twisted heart she was 
fond of her nephew ; also that her nephew's 
American bride had brought her both defer- 
ence and entertainment as long as she had 
treated her with ordinary courtesy. She 
also discovered that she had a sentiment 
for Castle Gide, which had been her own 
home for thirty-five years, that was not wholly 
dependent upon its capabilities of affording 
her the degree of luxurious living which she 
most appreciated. At this point something 
happened which had not happened for fully 
half a century. Two large tears trickled 
down Aunt Sarah's 
face. She knew her- 
self for a lonely, 
disagreeable old 
woman, very, very 

When Otterburn 
came out of the 
dining-room with the 
rest of the men he 
drew his wife a little 
aside and said to her: 
11 Look here, old 
lady, I don't think 
we can cany this on, 
I am afraid Aunt 
Sarah will have a fit 
if we bait her much 
more. Her eyes 
rolled most unplea- 
santly at dinner. 
Where is she, by- 

41 She has gone up- 
stairs looking mighty 
ugly," replied her 
ladyship. "She is 
going to express 
her baggage home 
to-morrow, " 

"Oh, she mustn't do that/' said Otterburn. 
" She has always gone on like that, and her 
hark is worse than her bite. You go and 
calm her down, and we'll stop this game. 1 ' 

m We've won," said Lady Otterburn. " But 
I don't feel very spry over the victory. She is 
an old lady, and I guess we'll just have to let 
her play by herself as long as she camps 
here. I'll go up to her right now." 

So Lady Otterburn entered Aunt Sarah's 
room just in time to catch her drying the 
two tears aforesaid and a few more that had 
followed them. A wave of compunction 


passed over her, and she felt that she and 
her husband and their guests had all behaved 
with the most unmannerly brutality, 

" Dear Aunt Sarah," she said, u I hate 
that you should be all alone up here while 
we are enjoying ourselves downstairs. Won't 
you come down and hear Mrs, Vanhooten 
sing ? They call her the nightingale of 
Cincinnati in the States," 

Now, if Lady Otterburn had followed the 
impulse that came to her to kneel by the 
side of the old woman and mix tears, she 
would almost certainly have been repulsed 
and would have found Aunt Sarah once 
more encased in a full suit of prickles ; for, 
however much in a moment of weakness 

that redoubtable old 
lady may have pitied 
herself, she certainly 
would have per- 
mi t ted no one else 
to pity her. But 
J^ady Otterburn was 
a young woman of 
considerable tact as 
well as generosity of 
fueling, and her 
method of approach 
proved to be the 
best she could have 

"Not to - night/' 
replied Aunt Sarah. 
" I confess to 
being slightly 
upset at what 
has occurred, 
and I do not 
feel equal to 
mixing with 
your guests at 

" I guess we 
must have 
offended you 
with our little 
game," said Lady Otterburn. " But we didn't 
mean any harm, and we have left off playing 
it now." 

"It has served its purpose," said Aunt 
Sarah, slowly, " I have been thinking matters 
over since 1 came upstairs. It is not easy for 
a woman of my age and character to confess 
herself in the wrong, but as far as you are 
concerned, my dear, I — I — really think that 
by showing mutual respect and consideration 
we may, perhaps, get on very well together." 
The speech had not ended quite in the 
manner Aunt Sarah had intended when she 



3 2 


began it t but the habits of a lifetime arc not 
changed in a moment, and its underlying 
meaning was, at any rate, clear. Aunt Sarah 
had conic as near as she had ever done in 
her life to an unreserved apology for her 
Lady Otter burn w^s prepared to meet her 
a good deal more than hall-way. 

"Of course, you feel seeing me here in 
your place/ she said. " 1 don't wonder But 
both Edward and I want you to look upon 
Castle Gide as your home just the same as 
before/' (This was not strictly true so far as 
Edward was concerned, but it must be 
admitted to have been generous.) "And 
I'm new to this country and to a position to 
which you were born. There are so many 
ways in which you could help, Aunt Sarah/ 5 

"My dear/' said the 
old woman, "any help I 
can give you you shall 
have. But I think you 
are quite capable of hold 
mg your own anywhere, 
and and of adorning 
any [X)5ition, ' 

So the treaty of peace 
was concluded, and the 
Countess and the Dowa- 
ger Countess of Otter 
burn spent a pleasant 
hour together talking 
amicably of many things. 
When Aunt Sarah 
came downstairs the next 
morning she found every 
body very anxious to 
please her. The general 
attitude of the party was 
that of people who had 
committed a breach of 
courtesy and were 
ashamed of themselves. 
Probably this attitude 
drove compunction into 
Aunt Sarah's soul more 
completely than any 
other could have done. 
She met advances with 
amiability, and exercised 
her fearless tongue and her undoubtedly 
sharp intellect to the general amusement 
rather than to the general terrifying of the 
company. By the time that the house-pirty 
broke up she had discovered, possibly to 
her amazement* that ascendency could be 

maintained as completely and far more 
pleasantly by force of character combined 
with wit and good-humour than by force of 
character supported by aggressive arrogance 

And thus, fortified by experience of its 
efficacy. Aunt Sarah's conversion was per- 
manent This is not to say that from a 
most objectionable old woman she changed 
at a bound into an exceedingly attractive one. 
The simile of the leopard and the Ethiopian 
still holds good- But there was an all-round 
improvement in her attitude towards the 
world at Lfrge which, whenever she found 
herself at Castle Gide, was an improvement 
which seemed to approach the miraculous. 

A year after the events oJ this story, when 
the two Ladies Otterburn had been worship- 


ping together for an hour at a cradle shrine 
plentifully bedecked with lace, the younger 
of them said to her husband : — 

" Dear Aunt Sarah ! She has a real loving 
heart 1 guess it was warped by her never 
having a baby of her own." 

by Google 

Original from 

How a Chroma- Lithograph is Printed. 

By L. Gray-Gower. 


ANY readers have no doubt 
wondered how the vivid and 
faithful reproductions of cele- 
brated pictures, with which 
the public has latterly become 
so familiar, are reproduced. 
There is a vague idea that it is th? result 
of some occuU colour-process that involves 
several distinct printings, but exactly what 
that process is remains commonly a sealed 
book. But there must be many readers who 
know nothing whatever of lithographic stones 
and colour-printing, Let us briefly, then, 
explain the principle. 

About a hundred years ago a struggling 
Bavarian printer, Alois Senefelder by name, 
having no paper at hand with which to indite 
his washing bill, used for the purpose a flat 
slab of peculiarly soft stone which he had in 
his workshop. The ink he used was a rude 
and greasy mixture. The appearance of the 
writing on the stone suggested to him the 
[xjssibility of reproducing the writing. His 
experiments were crowned with success, and 
lithography naturally took its place amongst 
the great industrial arts of the world. 

If you enter any great lithographers work- 
shop to-day, like that of the Dangerfield 
Company at St. Albans, you will notice huge 
slabs of stone, two or three inches thick, 
ranging in size from that of a large bedstead 
to that of a small book. All these stones 
may be said to come from one place — Solen- 
hofen, in the district of Monheim. 

At the Danger- 
field Company's 
works the writer 
seemed to be 
passing through a 
miniature quarry, 
or through a tomb- 
stone warehouse. 
The stones arrive 
it the works 
their rough 
dition. They.are 
prepared for use 
by being ground 
face to face with 
sand and water. 

The broad prin 
ciples of litho- 
graphy consist, of 
^iirse, in the 

of greasy substances to calcareous stone, the 
affinity of one greasy body for another, and 
the antipathy of such bodies to water. 
When water is applied to the surface of the 
stone it remains only on such portions as 
are not covered with grease, so that, if a roller 
charged with greasy ink be passed over the 
stone, the ink will only adhere to the greasy 
portions, while the moist parts will resist the 
ink and remain clean. In consequence, 
when a sheet of paper is pressed upon the 
stone, it only receives an impression in ink 
from the greasy line. This is the whole 
theory of lithography. 

And now comes in the task of the expert 
co lour- master. There has been growing 
up of late years a class of experts in-colour 
for whom the entire National Gallery is only 
a collection of tints on canvas more- or less 
adroitly combined. These men are master- 
lithographers. For them the most divine 
creations of Raphael, Titian, Claude, and 
Turner are workmanlike colour-combinations, 
which it is their business to analyze and 
resolve into their separate constituents. 
To-day the dead walls and hoardings of 
the kingdom are covered with wonderful 
posters and the shop windows lined with 
gorgeous lithographs evolved by men whose 
chromatic perception is so acute that they 
can tell you at a glance what the great 
Turner himself did not know — how many 
colours go to the making of one of Turner's 



"fiBltV OF MICHIGAff *""*"* 




"\ 1 

' - 

— . j 



There are very few artists who can say work away, slowly painting and repainting 

exactly haw their colour-effects were pro until the end desired is reached 
duced, or precisely what pigments were "We have master-lithographers in our 

employed to attain certain tones. They employ," said Mr. Adolphe Tuck to the 




writer, "who can tell almost at a glance how 
many colours and shades go to the nuking 
of any given picture, no matter how 

Take the case of one of the most success- 
ful reproductions of one of the old masters, 
" The Madonna Ansidei," which hangs in 
the National Gallery. The colour-master 
of whom we have spoken quickly resolved 
this picture into eighteen colours, involving 
the use of eighteen lithographic stones, each 
printing a separate tint and being of itself 
almost a separate picture, until by repeated 
printings the whole masterpiece was gradually 
built up. This is the example of which we 



/*\\ m | v there were sixteen colour: 
r*V MlS$* in a picture bv Van I >vi k 


lours or shades visible 
picture by Van Dyck. The lithographic 
colour-espert declared there were only eleven. 


present illustrations in this article, and is the 
work of Mr, Adolphe Tuck. 

But what an eye for colour ! What a gift 
for the realities and essentials of tone to be 
able, without any mixings of paint or other 
analytic experiments, to divine straight away 
just what colours are needed, and prepare 
stone after stone with the absolute certainty 
that the combination would produce such a 
result ! 

To illustrate the almost marvellous cap- 
ability of the coii>nrc\|uTt in analyzing the 
colours of a picture submitted to him, one 
may mention that the late Sir Charles East- 
lake, P.R-A., once ventured to assert that 




" ilTOfcil 


Accordingly an accurate copy was painted at 
the National Gallery of the picture, so 
accurate that it was difficult to discern a 
di (Terence between the copy and the original. 
This was duly ana- 
lyzed and placed on 
the stones, eleven in 
number, and the 
eleventh printing dis- 
closed an exact fac- 
simile erf the copy, 
and therefore of the 

Sir Charles East- 
lake acknowledged 
himself beaten, and 
readily paid tribute 
to the wonderful ana- 
lytic powers of an 
artist, or, rather, of a 
scientist, who could 
not paint a picture 
but could tell just 
what a picture was 
made of. 

In the case of the 
An,;' dei Madonna, 
the canvas was copied 
at the National Gal- 
lery under the eye of 
the Director. The 
first stage of repro- 

KlJfTH bTUNfc — UftlHUlC ORMV. 

duction was to transfer upon the stone a sort 
of yellowish-grey base or silhouette of the 
whole picture (No. i)« It will be noticed 
that the high lights are upon portions of St. 

John's and Mary's 
garments and the 
mitre of St. Nicholas. 
The picture on the 
next stone, which is 
to overlay the first, 
gives more detail. 

Gradually these 
pictures, each done 
by a separate artist, 
under the eyes of 
the colour-expert or 
master - lithographer, 
assume greater per- 
fection, as colour by 
colour is added, one 
from every stone, 
until in No. 9 one 
would fain think, as 
the artist himself may 
have thought, that 
the picture was 
finished, or at least 
approaching comple- 
tion. But, as a matter 
of fact, it is only half 
npmplcted. It is still 
many neces* 




sary qualities ; the reds and the greens and 
the greys and the gold have yet to be added. 
What a quaint enigma is presented by Nos. 
ii, 12, 14, and 15! Taken by themselves 
they seem meaningless, but combined with 
their forerunners and successors they are 
seen to be essential to the finished picture. 

In the very final stages the stones are 
devoted to greys, which by overlaying one 
another impart a roundness and solidity to 
the design which it would otherwise lack. 
It may be mentioned that this reproduction 
is, according to Mr. Tuck, the most suc- 
cessful, as it is the most elaborate, colour- 
lithograph ever attempted. 


In the case of an ordinary colour-drawing 
the usual method is to prepare a keystone — 
that is to say, an outline of the picture, 
together with the black or grey portions. It 
is then marked off into colours, each 
colour requiring, as has been said, a separate 
stone. Of the uncoloured outline as 
many copies are printed as there are to 
be colours in the finished picture, and 
each of these serves as a key or guide in 
determining in what position on each stone 
the separate colour shall be. Each artist 
ihen sets to work on his own part of the 
picture, which is very often, as will be seen 
by our illustrations, a picture by itself. The 


master-lithographer knows just how many of 
these pictures will be necessary to achieve a 
facsimile, It may be that one colour will 


Lft£» TINT. 



frequently have to be 
printed over another 
in order to produce 
the precise effect. 

For colour-printing 
the stone is polished. 
Naturally the order 
in which the colours 
succeed each other is 
very important, and 
must be carefully con- 
sidered. But perhaps 
the great object of 
the maker of pictures 
from stones, after the 
picture in its various 
phases has been pre- 
pared, is to see that 
each colour falls accu- 
rately into its proper 
place on the paper 
Nothing is more 
common, in a badly 
done lithograph, than 
to find in the face of 
the human subject, 
say an attractive 
young lady, the flesh 
colour overlapping the collar 
even extruding itself out into 
the ear. All this implies bad 


or the hat, or 
space beyond 
" registering/ 1 

The drawing on each 
stone must be made 
to fit in, or register, 
with the preceding 
one, so that, as the 
paper is passed 
through the printing 
machine, the picture 
is built up colour on 
colour, each, how- 
ever, being allowed 
to dry before the 
next is applied. 

In preparing the 
stone to take the pic- 
ture extreme care has 
to be exercised, for 
so great is its affinity 
for grease that even 
a finger - mark will 
become perpetuated. 
After a drawing on 
the stone is finished 
it is a precaution to 
coat it with a solu- 
tion of gum-arabic 
and nitric acid, w r hich 
fills up the pores of 

the stone in the unfilled parts and prevents 

the drawing from spreading. 

Having described the manner in which 













the picture on stone is prepared, we now 
come to the printing of it. To begin 
withj there is the " proving press," which is 
employed in prepar- 
ing the stones for 
the machine. The 
gummy solution is 
first washed off, but 
sufficient remains in 
the pores of the 
stones to offer a resist- 
ing influence to the 
ink when the time for 
printing comes. At 
this stage the stone is 
damped and a roller 
charged with printing 
ink is passed over its 
surface, every part of 
the design being 
brought in contact 
with the ink. Acci- 
dental grease spots 
are removed by scrap- 
ing, polishing, or the 
application of acid, 
otherwise they would 
develop and spoil the 

hlf.H J 'l-.fcv J If >]MNJ\ LKIill' IpClKV. 

When the stone is thus rectified it is sub- 
jected to what is technically termed etching ; 
that is, a weak solution of gum and nitric 

acid is applied, which 
causes the surface of 
the hare part of the 
stones to be gently 
eroded, and gives a 
stronger " tooth M to 
the design. Although 
the ink of the design 
itself may now be 
washed away and the 
picture be invisible, 
yet it is there, ready 
to receive any desired 
colo u r which forms 
the part of the pic- 
ture. The stones 
have to be damped 
and inked before 
each impression is 
taken, but neverthe- 
less the printing 
proceeds with great 
rapidity, ranging from 
six hundred to one 
thousand impressions 
per hour. 


*™'"««™ """"University of Michigan 

Sadi the Fiddler. 

By , Max Pemberton, 

ADI the fiddler, carrying the. 
little black case under his 
arm, locked the door of his 
garret as carefully as though it 
had contained, the wealth of 
the Caesars.. It was the night 
of Monday, the twepty-first day of September, 
in the year 1870. Sadi had not tasted food 
for twenty hours, and, though he well under- 
stood that there was very little to eat in the 
town of Strasburg, he went forth bravely in 
quest of it. After all, someone might throw 
him a bone, even though he were nothing 
more than a poor, crazy fiddler. . 

, " Heaven knows they have music enough 
here," he said to himself, as he descended 
the narrow staircase and came out beneath 
the eaves of the old houses. This was the 
thirty-second night since the hated Prussians 
had come swarming down from Worth and 
had invested the city like an army of human 
locusts. There was scarcely a minute by 
day or night when the great guns ceased to 
thunder, or the shots to play havoc with tHe 
ancient streets of gallant Strasburg.. Even 
as the fiddler walked away from his own- 
house that night a great shell^ thrown from 
one of the batteries to the . north; west, . . 
came singing and sighing above him,, and 
then fell with a mighty crash upon the 
roof next to his own. It was an in- 
cendiary shell, Sadi hazarded, and presently . 
a tongue of flame leaping up from the 
doomed building told . him that he* had 
guessed aright. He knew that his worldly 
possessions, such asj they were,, would soon 
be engulfed in that raging furnace of smoke . 
and fire ; and he reflected ^w?.th a sigh, odd 
fellow that he was, on a picture which he 
would have given much to save. Sadi w n onr : 
dered now that he had not .broygtjt the 
picture with him. Standing- there upon the 
narrow pavement, while the flames licked 
about the window of his attic,- he remembered 
the day when Lucy, "the daughter of.tuden- 
mayer, the artist from Bad ' I^auheim, had 
given the portrait to him' and had written, the 
words " In grateful remembrance " upon one 
corner of it. " We shall never return to 
Strasburg — never meet again, dear friend," 
she had said. He knew that it was true, 

admitted that she could be nothing to him — 
and yet his eyes were dim when he turned 
from the burning house and set off to wander 
aimlessly through the terrible streets. 

He had never been a rich man, but the 
outbreak of the war between France and 
Prussia robbed him in a day of his 
employment and left him a beggar. Nero 
had fiddled while Rome was burning, but no 
one in Strasburg desired to emulate that in- 
comparable artist ; and while there had been 
days when Sadi might have earned a good 
dinner by playing the Marseillaise to patriotic 
hosts, his pride forbade him and his violin 
was silent. The same sense of the dignity of 
his art kept him from the public distribution 
of food ordered by the Mayor and the brave 
General Uhrich. He, Sadi Descourcelles, 
had the blood of kings in his veins. A 
philosophic observer might have remarked 
that it ran thin and sluggish upon that twenty- 
first day of September, for he, Sadi, was famish- 
ing, ravenous, desperate with the gnawing 
hunger as of youth and strenuous life. He felt 
that he could commit any crime for bread. 
He searched the very gutters with his eyes 
for any scrap of food that fortune might have 
cast there. Such lighted windows as showed 
to him the tables spread for dinner or supper 
moved him to frenzies of desire. Why 
should some eat when others were starving? 
And the Prussians killed all indiscriminately, 
he said, rich or poor, old and young, mothers 
and children. What folly resisted the right 
of Bismarck and the Red Prince? Sadi 
prayed that the city might fall and bread be 
given to him; but with the next breath he 
was cursing the blue-coats and hoping in his 
heart that Strasburg might never surrender. 
For he was a patriot in spite of his poverty. 

It was a warm night of September, with a 
starry sky to be seen here and there between 
the clouds of sulphurous smoke which floated 
above the ramparts. Few walked abroad, 
for there was danger in the streets, and 
scarcely any cessation of the flying shells 
which the Prussians hurled upon the doomed 
city. Sadi was accustomed to the awful 
sounds and sights which accompanied the 
siege, and they were powerless any longer to 
affright him. Ever, tic ckad in the gutters — 









the children who had not made the war but 

paid the price of it with their young blood — 

found him callous and without sympathy. 

As these had died, so he would die and be 

at rest. He envied them as they lay there — 

the flare of the burning houses showed him 

the white faces 

and they seemed 

to sleep, Sadi 

believed that 

when next he 

slept it would be 

as these — eter- 

nally and without 


He was in- 
different to the 
danger ; never- 
theless some 
little measure of 
prudence re- 
mained to him, 
and he walked in 
the centre of the 
street to avoid 
the flying frag- 
ments and the 
falling timbers. 
Doleful cries 
from stricken 
houses fell upon 
deaf ears so far as 
Sadi the fiddler 
was concerned* 
The warnings of 
a friendly soldier, 
who told him 
that he was draw- 
ing perilously 
near the zone of 
fire, he received 
with a curt word 
of thanks. Had 
the man given 
him a crust he 
would have 
kissed him on 
both cheeks ; but 
the fellow was 
hungry himself, and the two parted surlily 
— the one to a beer-shop, the other toward 
the ramparts, 

" You can play them a tune, old fellow," 
the soldier said. 

Sadi answered, " Why so, friend, since the 
houses dance already?" 

Yes ; the houses danced indeed, and the 

mad music of the guns waxed more terrible 

as Sadi approached the ramparts and could 
Vol. **vii — g 

TIIK TWO lAiril-L) S. lit.ll.V. 

see the cannon for himself. It was just like 
a display of fireworks in the gardens of the 
Tuileries, he said. From minute to minute 
the dark background of the sky would be 
cleaved by a line of fire, which marked the 
path of an incendiary shell as it soared above 

the quivering 
city and fell in a 
shower of flame 
upon house, or 
church, or cita- 
del. The hither 
ground was a 
mighty waste of 
rubble, a desert 
of rubbish, where 
a few weeks ago 
houses had stood 
up proudly, and 
churches had in- 
vited worship- 
pers, and children 
had found their 
homes. And all 
this misery, this 
u n told and savage 
destruction, was 
the work of the 
hated Prussians 
over yonder, 
where the night 
was red and the 
darkness behind 
it shielded the 
assassins, Sadi, 
in the presence 
of who 
were doing some- 
thing for France, 
asked himself 
what he had 
done. The 
a n s w e r was, 
" Nothing." He 
reflected upon it 
a little bitterly 
and turned away 
toward the west, 
walking from the 
ramparts of that unhappy quarter of the city 
which the Prussians had destroyed ten days 
ago and now forgotten. 

The path was desolate — none trod it but 
Sadi the fiddler, and he stumbled often as 
he went. So completely had the Prussians 
demolished the quarter that the very contour 
of the streets was lost and a dismal plain 
presented itself — an open field of rubbish, 
broken' abyi,ra 



which once had been the cellars of the 
houses. Sadi did not know why he walked 
in such a place or what hope of bread it 
could give him ; but when he stumbled upon 
an open cellar he reflected that, after all, the 
house had been quitted in haste, and that 
some provision might have been left in its 
larders. The bare possibility appealing to 
his ravenous hunger sent him climbing 
down into the cellar like a schoolboy 
upon a forbidden venture. Impatiently, 
and with a strength he did not know 
that he possessed, he delved among the 
rubble, thrust at the great beams, and 
wormed his way toward the vault. None 
would interfere with him, he argued; there 
was no law, military or civil, which forbade a 
man to share a bone with the dogs. Sadi 
was like a miser seeking for his gold ; and 
when at length he stood upright in that which 
undoubtedly had been the larder of a house, 
he felt all the joy of an explorer who has 
discovered an unknown city. Unhappily, 
such a transport endured for the briefest of 
moments. Sadi was just telling himself that 
h i was a very lucky fellow when a great hand, 
thrust out of the darkness, clutched at his 
throat, and the rays of a lantern shining full 
in his face blinded him to any other sights. 

"Well, my body-snatcher," cried a voice 
in guttural French, " and what may you be 
doing here?" 

A German spoke ; there was no doubt of 
it at all. Moreover, he was a huge fellow, 
probably a Prussian from the North ; and 
although he wore the uniform of a French 
regiment of chasseurs, it was ridiculously 
small for him and showed its deficiencies 
when his cloak fell aside. Quick-witted and 
mentally alert, Sadi guessed the fellow's 
business there at the first hazard. He could 
be no one else than one of the many 
Prussian spies who then found their way in 
and out of Strasburg so readily. This desert 
waste of the city would harbour him surely 
— perchance he waited an opportunity to re- 
cross the lines, and was hiding meanwhile 
in this labyrinth like a fox that has gone 
to earth. AH this passed through Sadi's 
mind in a moment, but it was accompanied 
by a cold shiver as though icy water were 
running down his back. For he perceived 
at once that the Prussian carried a revolver 
in his right hand and that the finger itched 
upon the trigger. A word, a step, might cost 
him his life. Sadi stood rigid as a statue, 
while the sweat gathered in heavy drops upon 
his brow. 

" Come, no nonsense ! " the Prussian 

repeated, menacingly. "You had better be 
honest with me. What is your business 
here ? I will give you the half of a minute 
to tell me." 

Sadi breathed heavily, but he spoke 
apparently without emotion. 

"I have had nothing to eat for twenty 
hours," he said ; " naturally I came here for 

The Prussian interrupted him with a brutal 

"Then you certainly live on vermin, my 
bag of bones," he retorted, with a jeer. 
"Come, yo,ur time is nearly up, and my 
fingers are impatient. You will really be 
very fool : sh if you are not candid with me." 

He raised the pistol slowly, and deliberately 
touched Sadi's forehead with the cold barrel. 
The lantern's light showed a hard face and 
small eyes set above puffy cheeks. He wore 
a moustache in the French fashion and an 
uncouth imperial, which added to his 
grotesque appearance. Sadi knew that such 
a man would think it no greater crime to 
shoot a Frenchman than to drown a dog. 
Heroically as he had philosophized aboqt 
death ten minutes ago, the nearer presence 
of it was very dreadful to him. He could 
imagine the sting of the bullet as it crashed 
through his forehead, the sudden giddiness, 
the voice which said, " Never again shall you 
speak, or breathe, or look up to the sun." 
A desperate desire of life came to him. He 
trembled violently, pressed his hand to his 
heart, but could not utter a single word. 
The Prussian watched him without com- 
passion. He began to count ironically, 
" One, two, three," he said ; " I will count 
ten, canaille," and he started off from the be- 
ginning again. He was at the number " five " 
when a second voice in the cellar caused him 
to turn sharply upon his heel and then to 
salute in the rigid German fashion. 

" Ah, Herr Lieutenant, here is a job for 
you," he exclaimed, as though glad to be quit 
of the responsibility. "I found this rat in 
the hole here. Look at him for yourself and 
see what kind of a rogue he is." 

The newcomer was quite a youth, a fair, 
freckled German lad, in little more than his 
twentieth year. He, too, wore a French 
uniform, but it was that of the artillery, and 
Sadi observed that it was a better fit than the 
loose clothes of the rough customer who 
had just been threatening him. Such trifling 
facts occupied the fiddler's mind to the 
exclusion of all else. He believed that he 
was about to die, and yet could count the 
butto^KjcmpffhP] lieutenant's tunic, guess at 




the State he came from, and hazard the 
colour of his eyes, The lad was a Bavarian, 
he said, a merry, laughing youngster- Im- 
possible to believe that he would sanction 
a brutal murder, Sadi breathed quickly— 
he appealed to the lad ? s sympathy in an 
earnest, manly voice. 

"Herr Lieutenant, it is nothing of the 
kind," he protested ; " I am a poor wretch of 
a fiddler, whose garret your people have just 

It was not a wise thing to have said, and 
the young soldier's interruption told Sadi as 

" My people, sir ! " he cried, sharply, and 
with feigned astonishment; "What people 
do you mean, then?" 

" It is as I say," interrupted 
the trooper j " he' is a spy who 
has tracked us to our hole, Hen- 
Lieutenant. Better make an end 
of him while there is time." 

"But not with a pistol, 
trooper," retorted the boy, with 
a little laugh. " At least, let us 
sup first." 

Sadi breathed again, while the 
two Prussians discussed the pros 
and cons in a low voice. " If 
these men would but quarrel ! " 
was his idea. They, however, 
had no intention of doing any- 
thing of the kind, for presently 
they ceased to wrangle, and the 
young soldier exclaimed, with 
some severity : — 

"You say that you are a 
fiddler. What proofs of that can 
you give us ? " 

"My fiddle," answered Sadi, 
almost joyously; "you will find 
it on the stones upstairs, sir." 

The answer surprised the men 
very much. 

"Go and look for it, trooper," 
said the officer, quietly; "there 
is plenty of time before daylight 
to settle this fellows affair. Be- 
sides, the captain is fond of a 
little music." 

The trooper clambered up out 
of the cellar at the word of com- 
mand, while the lieutenant calmly 
lighted a cigar and surveyed Sadi 
with an ironical glance. 

" Poor business, yours, just 
now, is it not ? " he asked. 

" So poor that I am starving," 
said Sadi, with dignified simplicity. 
" Ah ! And you look for your supjxron the 
dust-heaps. Just like a fiddler." 

" I have walked to the ramparts and back 
every evening for three years," rejoined Sadi, 
whose self-possession remained to him. 
" The habit clings to me ; besides, what is 
the harm ? " he asked. 

"The captain will teach you that; don't 
let me deceive you at all ; he will certainly 
shoot you, old fellow. For myself, I am 
sensitive ; it is my weakness to prefer live 
bodies to dead ones. I could not — no, I 
could not harm a fly, my Stradivari us. That 
is why you are now allowed to say your 

His. own^jhimaurr^amused him, and 

presen %I^MWfelGAN 



" But perhaps you do not want to say 
your prayers, my Amati. Other people . 
generally do that when Frenchmen are 
fiddling. Here is your violin, I see. Let us 
play it together." 

The trooper returned while he spoke, 
carrying the frayed black leather case which 
stood for all that life could give to Sadi 
Descourcelles. When the lieutenant seized 
upon it with rough hands it was as though 
someone had struck Sadi a blow. 

" Gently, for Heaven's sake, sir," he cried* 
" Do you know that my fiddle is worth five 
thousand francs ? " 

" To us possibly a good deal more," re- 
torted the lieutenant, uncompassionately. 
"The captain shall read your music, my 
little Paganini. This way, if you please, 
and mind your precious neck if you prefer 

It was the lieutenant's evident idea that the 
violin-case contained the private papers of a 
common spy, who had fallen by some lucky 
chance into the hands of the very men he 
would have betrayed to the French. Proud 
at the capture, and confident of applause 
from his superior officers, he now pushed 
Sadi across the cellar in which they stood to a 
door upon the far side of it,- whence a flight 
of steps led downward to a second cellar, more 
spacious and less encumbered. Here candles 
burned upon a rude table, a fire flickered 
upon a tiled hearth, and burly figures moved 
about a copper, whence a fragrant smell dif- 
fused itself. Sadi perceived at once that he had 
been conducted into a very nest of Prussians. 
He had no doubt whatever that these were 
the men who had been carrying news of 
Strasburg to the Red Prince since the siege 
began ; their startled exclamations when the 
door opened, the quick exchange of sign and 
counter-sign, left no other conclusion possible. 
And he understood what he had to hope from 
them — he, who knew their secret and could, 
by a word, bring a rabble there which would 
tear them limb from limb. 

The trooper thrust Sadi forward toward the 
fire, while coarse, stubbly faces peered into 
his own, and more than one hand reached 
out for a candle to examine him more closely. 
To the hurried questions : " Whom have you 
here; what cattle is this?" the lieutenant 
answered, simply : " I must see the captain ; 
please to wake him." In a tense interval, 
during which someone entered a lunette of 
the cellar and touched a sleeping figure upon 
the shoulder, the ruffian by the copper asked 
Sadi if he were hungry, and, being answered 
"Yes ? " he took a ladleful of the boiling 

soup and poured it over the prisoner's 
fingers. Sadi cried out sharply ; but before 
the act could be repeated a burly man strode 
out of the alcove and gave the fellow a box 
on the ear which sounded like a pistol-shot. 

" What do you mean by that, sergeant ? " 
the new-comer asked. 

" A spy from the ramparts. I was keep- 
ing him warm, Herr Captain," was the 

"But this is no spy; this is Sadi the 

Sadi turned with a cry of joy. 

" Ludenmayer ! You, my friend 1 " he 

" Sadi 1 Old Sadi the fiddler ! Impos- 
sible ! " 

" Indeed, it is possible. Old Sadi, as you 
say, and so hungry that he could eat the 
bones off your dishes." 

"Then he shall sup with us. A hungry 
man makes friends with strange company, 
and w r e are that, as you guess, Maitre Sadi. 
Come, sergeant, fill our friend a bowl of 
soup. Let him spy out that to begin with. 
Eh, Sadi, you will not refuse a bowl of 
soup even from the Prussians ? Then let us 
see you fall to. We can talk of old friends 

There were some murmurs at this from the 
men about the table, but the sergeant obeyed 
the order sullenly, and a bowl of the hot 
soup was set before the astonished Sadi 
almost before he had realized that a lucky 
accident had saved his life — for the moment, 
at any rate. Ludenmayer, honestly glad to 
see an old acquaintance, even under such 
circumstances, began to assure the rest that 
they had nothing to fear from Sadi ; but at 
this the fiddler put down his spoon and flatly 
contradicted his friend. 

" Not so," he said, blandly ; " if it were in 
my power I would hang the lot of you ! " 

They laughed at him now — laughed at 
him for a foolish crank,- airing his absurd 
patriotism even at the pistol's mouth. While 
some of them said that he would soon have 
Prussians enough for his neighbours in 
Strasburg, others promised the city twenty, 
thirty, forty hours of her freedom. 

"And we shall have you for our guest, 
friend Sadi," Ludenmayer said, affably. " We 
like you so much that we cannot part with 
you. No, we must certainly keep you until . 
the Red Prince comes in ; after that we will 
send you to Munich to fiddle at the opera. 
Eh, my boy, there's a career — to scrape this 
new Wagner stuff and hear the madmen say 

that >WMTf«ictor u come to 



Munich and see little Lucy again ? I know 
that you will, Sadi." 

Sadi sighed, but did not answer his friend. 
If the name of Lucy were a sweet remem- 
brance to him, this promise of Strasburg's 

there by the chances of the night to discover 
and, it might be, to betray them. 

The idea came to him quite unexpectedly 
while the Prussians were at their supper, In 
another he would have scoffed at it, but Sadi 

" tv IT u'KHR in mv huvkr i would HAHG thf i.«»r or \t*u.* 

surrender and of the humiliation it must put 
upon France cut him to the quick. These 
men about him, jesting in the face of death, 
defiant of all risks — how much, perchance, 
they had done in the terrible weeks of the 
siege to bring about this inevitable cataclysm 
and the ruin and death which attended it ! 
Their reward would be promotion and 
applause from those who had contrived 
France's misfortunes, None would punish 
them, none bring them to account, Sadi 
reflected bitterly ; and, reflecting, he asked 
himself of a sudden if he were not the 
appointed agent — he, the humble fiddler, sent 

had long been fretting upon his own useless- 
ness and the poor part he had played at the 
time of his country's need ; and now it came 
to him as in a flash that this was the ap- 
pointed hour. That he would lose his own 
life in the endeavour to give these men up to 
France he was quite convinced ; but this 
contemplation of sacrifice pleased him, and 
there was but one regret — that he could do 
nothing which would not wound the father 
of her he had so greatly loved. Yes, if he 
could call Frenchmen to this hiding-place 
they would spare n,oti*fin ^d Ludenmaver 



many a daughter mourned a father in Stras- 
burg that day— why should little Lucy be 
spared ? And yet he could not bring himself 
to harm his old friend Did he not owe his 
life to him ? 

It was a strange scene — the big cellar 
lighted by guttering candles, the red fire 
flickering upon the hearth, and the sombre 
figures of the burly Prussians lolling over 
their dishes or their pipes. From time to 
time one or other would quit the place 
stealthily, returning anon with news from the 
ramparts or the 
streets. The 
young lieu- 
tenant d i si- 
appeared alto- 
gether toward 
midnight, and 
Sadi knew that 
he had re- 
crossed the 
lines while his 
friends were 
pledging him in 
giant bumpers 
of champagne. 
As the hours 
went on the 
hilarity became 
reckless and, as 
it seemed to 
Sadi, even dan- 
gerous. Luden- 
mayer called 
for silence 
more than 
once, but the 
men, warmed 
with the wine, 
obeyed him 
reluctantly, and 
were soon talk- 

ing and laugh- 
ing again. It 
wan at the 
height of such 
an outburst that 

Sadi touched his friend upon the shoulder 
and bethought him of the very first lie he 
had told in all his life. 

"Did you say good-bye to the Herr 
Lieutenant ? " he asked, in a low voice ; and 
then continued, " I hope so, for you will 
never see him again, friend Ludenmayer." 

The captain, who had been squatting upon 
a heap of straw* by Sadi's side, laughed a little 
incredulously, but his nervousness was evident 
when he asked ; 

" And why should we not see him again, 

" Because they know where he will recross 

" They know ! Who knows, then ? " 
" Le voire and the staff. It is rumoured 
that you are hiding in the ruins, I came 
here to warn you — you alone, mind, not the 

He raised a finger as much as to say, " This 
is the compact between us." The Prussians 
round about were playing cards and dominoes, 

and quarrelling 
over their 
games. Luden- 
mayer, fallen 
serious in a 
moment, seem- 
ed to be turn^ 
ing over Sadi's 
words in his 
mind. Presently 
he said r— 

"Le vo i r e 
was a friend of 
yours, I think?" 
"I had the 
honour to be 
instructor to his 

"Then she 
was your in- 
formant ? n 

He had put 
the idea into 
SadPs h ead, 
and the fiddler 
seized upon it 
with avidity. 

" We need 
not go into that* 
If you doubt 
her informa- 
tion, prove it 
for yourself. 
Your friends 
he re are scarce 1 y 
" That is true, the cattle* They think that 
their work is over, I must certainly go, 
Sadi — and take you with me." 

"Not so, Ludenmayer ; I must have 
nothing to do with it. Besides* I am very 
comfortable here." 

" For the time being, yes. But if any- 
thing should happen to me, they would 
assuredly hang you, friend Sadi." 

" I will take ■ my f chances, Ludenmayer 
RememberJfl l ffl , W r filH}if that I wish 








serve. They will at least respect your 
orders-" . 

" Give them your word to be silent, and 
they will let you go away at once. There is 
nothing easier, Sadi." 

"For a Prussian, perhaps — for me, no. 
We have been comrades — let that suffice, 
Ludenmayer. A wise man would go at 

The eyes of the two met, and the Prussian 
seemed to read something of this odd fellow's 
purpose in his dilated pupils and the stern, 
set expression of his mouth. It came to 
Ludenmayer that he and the gregarious 
dozen of spies with him were already in a 
trap from which haste alone would save 
them. This simple old fiddler knew much 
more than he would tell. Ludenmayer, 
trained to selfishness by his occupation, 
cared nothing for that which happened to the 
others if he could save his own skin. He 
was grateful to Sadi, and he wrung his 

. " Well," he said, in a louder voice, for all 
td hear, " I must certainly be off, but I 
shall not be away long. Do not spare the 
bottle, Sadi. And mind you treat him 
well," he added, turning to the company, " for 
he is my guest." 

The men stood to the salute mechanically, 
and the sentry in the passage whispering that 
the road was clear, Ludenmayer left the 
cellar with a last-word in Sadi's ear. 

"Take care of yourself," he said; "they 
are in an ugly mood." 

Sadi nodded his head confidently, but his 
heart beat quicker when the door was shut, 
and he looked a little eagerly into the faces 
of the crew as though he would learn their 
purpose now that the captain was gone. It 
could not be very long, he argued, before 
Ludenmayer discovered the trick which had 
been played upon him and returned to charge 
him with it. As to the Prussians about 
him, some were already steeped with wine, 
and they lay sprawling like animals in the 
straw; others, and the cook was among the 
number of these, eyed their captain's guest 
suspiciously and discussed him in low voices. 
Sadi knew that his life hung upon a thread ; 
but when a great ruffian drew a revolver and 
loaded it deliberately the fiddler was not 
afraid. " They will not shoot me," he said 
to himself; "they w r ould be afraid of the 
noise." What he feared was the rope and 
the hook in the beam above, but he did not 
confess it by his looks; and turning from 
them with a laugh he buried his head in the 
straw and pretended to sleep. Soon the 

others imitated him, and the heavy breathing 
of tired men echoed through the cellar. 

Sadi lay for a long while without any other 
idea than that of his own danger and the 
fate which awaited him if Ludenmayer did 
not come back. He had caught up the 
precious fiddle which the captain returned 
to him, and he hugged it to him as the one 
possession left to him in the world. Silent 
as the place was, the broken roof admitted 
sounds of the later night, the blare of bugles, 
and the booming of the shells. Sadi won- 
dered what those distant troops would say if 
a man should go to them and cry, "The 
cellars by the old church of St Gervais are 
full of Prussian spies; you will find them 
sleeping there." Could he but send that 
message, at least one of the wrongs of those 
bitter days would be avenged. And yet how 
impotent he was ! The desert waste of land 
above would be without one living soul at 
such an hour ; and he knew that any 
attempt to quit the cellar would bring 
instant death upon him. Sadi, convinced 
of the hopelessness of his idea, lay very still 
and counted the dreary hours. For a time 
he slept; and when he awoke it was the 
sentry's voice which aroused him. The man 
had come down to warn his comrades. A 
regiment of the line marched out to the 
assistance of the gunners at Lunette 53 — 
you could hear their heavy tramping as 
they crossed the old road, now lumbered 
over with stones and the rubble of the 
tumbled houses. There would be many, 
very many of them, the ear said. Sadi 
alone amongst those who listened to the 
footsteps did not tremble or turn pale. 
He was unloosing his fiddle in its case. 
None saw him or thought of him in that 
tragic moment. " For France ! " he said, and 
he believed it was the last word he would 
ever utter. 

The alarm cried softly in the cellar found 
stupid ears and men but half-awakened from 
a drunken sleep. Some of the Prussians sat 
up with hush words upon their lips ; others 
simply lay and listened — a regiment was 
marching past certainly, but what of that ? 
They had but to lie close and to douse the 
lights (which they were quick to do) and 
their safety was assured. This they believed 
when sudden music, loud and distinct, sent 
them leaping to their feet and crying for their 
swords. Someone played the "Wacht am 
Rhein " at their, very elbows — a voice 
roared " Shoot the fiddler down " — another 
voice cried cut for a b'ght. It was the 

"P^lH^fr ^H^rf* Sadi the 



fiddler. Never had he played so wildly or 
with such delight of his notes. And the 
darkness, he said, might yet save him* 
Dodging here, ducking there, he plunged 
into the passage and went on headlong 
toward the light. But he never ceased to 
play the " Wacht am Rhein " when he could 
stand a moment to breathe, and the bullets 
singing by him, the sword-thrusts aimed at 
him, did but make him play the louder 

Sadi gained the ruins above with a great 
gash upon his 
cheek and his 
precious fiddle 
cleaved in half 
by a cut from a 
Prussian sword. 
Up in the open 
his eyes beheld 
a glad sight A 
regiment of in- 
fantry stood at 
the halt not 
twenty paces 
from him. Its 
officers were 
moving about 
as though in 
quest of some 
mystery, and 
when they per- 
c e i v e d him 
they advanced a 
little curiously 
and bade the 

fiddler halt He answered them in words 
which were almost incoherent, "The ruins 
are full of Prussians," he said, and pointed 
downwards to the cellars he had left No 
other word was spoken or needed. Savagely, 
silently, as beasts of prey that have found 
quarry, the soldiers fixed their bayonets 
and began to go down. And Sadi stood en- 
tranced, listening to the cries of men in their 
death agony, to their prayers for mercy ; and 
he said, " This wrong at least is avenged." 

And so he 
turned from the 
scene, with his 
poor broken 
fiddle, and the 
long day of 
loneliness be- 
fore him. 

"I shall not 
play in Munich ; 
I shall never 
see little Lucy 
again, iJ he said. 
But he knew 
that he had 
done his duty, 
and his step was 
firmer when he 
set out again 
for the terrible 
streets of a city 
.about to open 
its gates to the 


by Google 

Original from 

Prince Henry f s Beast Book. 

HE many thousands who have 
laughed over the inimitable 
Artemus Ward's essays in 
natural history, such as " The 
elephant has four legs— one 
J on each corner ; he eats hay 
and cakes,* might little suspect the analogy 
which exists between these humorous trifles 
and the serious works of the zoological 
pundits of the seventeenth century. If any- 
thing, far greater is the humour to be 
extracted from the older writers ; especially 
when we recollect that their books and 
treatises on animal creation were regarded 
with infinite respect — veneration even — by 
young and old, wise and unwise, noble and 
plebeian, who dili- 
gently consulted them. 
Unhappily, most of 
these productions are 
in Latin, and even 
Artemus Ward in 
Latin would probably 
lose the fine savour of 
merriment by which 
his good things are 
distinguished unless 
the translator relied 
upon puns, as they do 
in the Westminster 
plays. But the 

pictures in Aldrovandus, in Albertus 
Magnus, in Johannes Jonstonus, and in 
Conrad Gesner speak— shall we not rather 
say t shriek ? — for themselves : and we were 
recently fortunate in coming across a large 
volume in which the best in all these books 
is gathered together with English letterpress, 
for the benefit of a young English prince 
who lived and died early in the seventeenth 
century. It was in 1607 that Edward Top- 
sell published his version of w Four-footed 
Beastes." Gesner's rhef d^uvre and those 
of the other writers named had been on 
the bookshelves for many years. 

The volume in question belonged to the 
eldest son and heir of James I., and has his 
coat of arms on the coven Next, it enjoys 
the distinction of having some of the plates 
coloured by the Royal hand, its owner being 
then in his thirteenth year. But, best of all, 
its pictures and letterpress describe for us 

Vat W IL_7. 

beyond the possibility of error, and in the 
clearest and most perspicuous way, the won- 
derful quadrupeds which flourished on the 
face of the earth in Prince Henrys boyhood. 
Beside this curious volume how tame are 
even the most interesting of modern natural 
history books ! Let us begin with the king 
of beasts, 

" Lyons bones have no marrow in them and 
are so hard that they will strike fire. Their 
neck is made of one stifle bone, without any 
vertebras. They have five claws on the 
hinder feet and the balls of their eyes are 
black, Lyons eat but once in two days and 
drink in like manner. Formerly in England 
a Lyon could tell noble blood from base-" 

Can it be that this 
virtue was confined 
merely to the lions 
caged in the Heralds' 
College ? Our Beast 
Booke goes on to in- 
form us that in cer- 
tain districts lions 
were killed, not with 
spears or cannon-balls, 
but "with the pmuder 
of decayed fish. " Fro m 
whence may we not 
have a faint glimmer- 
ing of the reason why 
Jamrach's was originally situated so much 
nearer to Billingsgate Market than to 

" There is a variety of Lyon with human 
faces. As for the rest, the taile of a Lyon 
is very long, which they shakL- oftentimes, 
and by beating their sides therewith they 
provoke themselves to fight. The nether 
part of this taile is full of hairs and gristles, 
and some are of opinion that there is therein 
a little sting wherewithall the Lyon pricketh 

" 7 T he Lamia is a wild Beast, having several 
parts outwardly resembling an Oxe and in- 
wardly a mule, The Lamia has a woman's 
face and very beautiful), also very large and 
comely shapes such as cannot be imitated by 
the art of any painter, having a very excellent 
colour in their fore-parts without wings, and 
no other voice but hissing like Dragons ; but 
they are th^q^jflt^,^ foot of all earthly 





'the lamia has a woman's fackanoverv beautifull*' 

beasts, so as none can escape them by 

The chief prey of the Lamia was, it 
appears, members of 
the human species, pre- 
ferably males. By its 
passing beauty (or, to 
judge by the pictorial 
illustration, one would 
say rather by its amaz- 
ing novelty) it would 
entice men, and when 
they had "come neare, 
devoure and kill them." 
In fact, these lamias 
were so inordinately 
fond of their favourite 
refreshment that in one * 

district "a certain 
crooked place in Libia neare the Sea-shore 
full of sand was like to a sandy Sea and 
all the neighbor pi aces thereunto are deserts," 
A painful and humiliating lack of men has 
often been noticed at our modern seaside 

" The hinder parts of this beast/ 1 concludes 
our author, " are like unto a goate, his fore- 
legs like a Beares and his body scaled all 
over like a rjragon." 

Next is a contemporary picture of a Tiger, 

And now we come to the Wolf. His 
custom in those halcyon days of natural 
history was, as now ? to go in troops- But 
we read : " Their necks are pressed together, 
so that they cannot stir it, to look about, but 
they must move their whole bodies. They 
fall upon their prey, devouring hair, bones 
and all. When they are to fight in great 
herds they fill their bellies with earth." But 
this is as nothing. "When they are to pass 
over Rivers, they jovn tails ; loaded with that 

weight they are not easily thrown down and 
the floods can hardly carry them away, being 
joined together. The breath of a Wolf is so 
fiery, that it will melt and consume the hardest 
bone in his stomack. 1 ' 

We have all of us heard of the Harpy. 
Below is a likeness of one that speaks for 

Lizards are always interesting. u There 
was a lizzard 8 cubits long brought to 
Rome from yEtheopia by ihe command of 
a Cardinal of Lisbon and the mouth of it 
was so wide that a child might be put into 
it. . . . Put alive into a new earthen vessel 
and boyle d with 3 Sextaryes of Wine and 
one Cyathus, it is excellent food for one sick 
of the Pthisick, if he drink of it in the 
morning fasting," 

We must not suppose that this operation 
would kill the lizard ■ the difficulty would be 
how to procure a vessel to stew so large a 
lizard. Lizard-pots are 
made much smaller 
nowadays, We dare 
say that the worthy 
Mrs. Beeton, in her 
most ingenious mo- 
ments, never dreamt of 
one above four, or at 
most six, cubits deep. 

Writers of our own 

time who have never 

gone in for a course of 

logic rarely condescend 

to complete perspicuity* 

*a** They take things too 

often for granted. This 

is not old TopselVs way. "The Arabian 

sheep have a very broad tail," he says, "and 




their love, but makes 

the fatter it is the thicker it will be/* We 
learn, too, what we should never have 
suspected had the author not plainly stated 
it T that some tails " have been seen above 
i5olbs. in weight* " Albert us Magnus saw 
"a Ram that had 
4 great Horns grow- 
ing on his head and 
two long ones on his 
legges, that were like 
to Goat's Horns," 

Here are some 
other gems from our 
Beast Booke : — 

" Subus is an am- 
phibion, with two 
Horns : he follows 
shoals of fish swim- 
ming in the Sea, 
Lobsters, Fagri, and 
Oculatae, are fishes 
that love him j but 
he cares for none of 
them all his prey. 

"The Sphinx or Sphinga is of the kinde 
of Apes, having his body rough like Apes* 
having the upper part like a woman and 
their visage much like them. The voice very 
like a man's, but not articular, sounding as if 
one did speak hastily or with sorrow. Their 
haire browne or swarthy colour. They are 
bred in India and Ethyopia- The true Sphinx 
is of a fierce though a tameable nature and 
if a man do first of all perceive or discerne 
of these natural Sphinges, before the beast 
discerne or perceive the man, he shall be 
safe j but if the beast first descrie the man, 
then is it mortal to 
the man. 

"The Manti- 
chora is bred 
among the Indians, 
having a treble row 
of teeth beneath e 
and above, whose 
greatnesse, rough- 
nesse and feete are 
like a Lyons, his 
face and ears like 
unto a mans, his 
eyes grey and col- 
lour red, his taile 
like the taile of a 

scorpion of the earth, armed with a sting, 
casting forth sharp pointed quills, his voice 
like the voice of a small trumpet or pipe, 
being in course as swift as a Hart/* 

Then follows further description of the 
Mantichora- This singular combination of 

Digitized by \*i 



lionj man, scorpion* and porcupine was 
implicitly believed in by all the natural 
history writers up to Goldsmith's day, and 
we are not sure that that pleasing hut gullible 
scribe did not, privately at least, accord its 

existence full ere 

Leigh Hunt, in 
his Autobiography, 
describes the ex- 
traordinary effect 
which a sight of 
this beast had upon 
him when he en- 
countered it in an 
old folio during his 
childhood* The 
Mantichora, he 
says, " unspeakably 
shocked me. It had 
the head of a man, 
grinning with rows 
of teeth, and the body of a wild beast, bran- 
dishing a tail armed with stings. It was some- 
times called by the ancients Martichora. But 
I did not know that. I took the word to 
be a horrible compound of man and tiger. 
The beast figures in Pliny and the old 
travellers, Appolonius takes a fearful joy 
in describing him. * Mantichora,' says old 
Morell— £ bestia horrenda* — 'a brute fit to 
give one the horrors/ The possibility of 
such creatures being pursued never occurred 
to me, Alexander, I thought, might 
have been encountered while crossing the 
Granicus, and elephants might be driven 
into the sea, but how could anyone face 

a beast with a man's 
head?" Leigh 
Hunt goes on to 
describe how the 
Mantichora im- 
pressed his whole 
childhood, Doubt- 
less the sensations 
of the eighteenth^ 
century child 
were the same felt 
by the early seven- 
teenth -centu ry 
Prince Henry. The 
Mantichora was the 
hUe noire of the 
Royal nursery, we may depend upon it. 

Scarcely less dreadful was the Collogruis, 

whose picture is g'ven on the next page* 

How many of us hiwe heard of the Colus? 

"There is," we read, "among the Scithians 

and Sarmatians a foure-footed wild beast 




called Colus, being in quantitie and stature 
betwixt a Ramnie and a Hart and dusky 
white coloured, but the young ones yellow." 
The real peculiarity of the Colus, which 
makes every true lover of quadrupeds 
regret its extinction, is 
described as follows : " Her 
manner is to drinke by the 
holes in her nostrils, where- 
by she snuffeth up abound- 
ance of water and carrieth 
it in her head, so that she 
will live in dry pastures 
remote from all moisture 
and great season, quench- 
ing her thirst by that cis- 
tern e in her head." Ima- 
gination conjures up a huge 
drove of Colii, blissfully en- 
camped in the midst of the 
Sahara, astonishing the 
parsing Bedouins by their 
Sagacity and the amazing 
cisterns in their cranium s. 
There was no use trying 
to capture them, so fleet 
and nimble were they, 
unless, indeed, the hunter 
had taken the precaution to arm himself with 
a flute or a timbrel. In that case he had 
only to strike up a few airs and it was all up 
with the poor Colus. He would fall down 
with weakness, and a simple blow with a staff 
sufficed to dispatch him, lie made excellent 
eating j flavoured, we suppose, by the con- 
tents of the cranial cistern afore described. 

" The Camelopard or Giraffe is a beaste 
full of spots. He hath two little homes 
growing on his head the colour of iron, his 
eies rolling and growing, his mouth but small 
like a hart's ; his tongue is neare three foot 
long. The pace of this beast differeth from 
all other in the world, for he doth not move 
his right and left foote one after another, but 
both together, and 
so likewise the other, 
whereby his whole 
body is removed at 
every step or 

We must perforce 
skip the descriptions 
of the three kinds of 
Apes — Ape Satyre, 
the Ape Norwegian, 
and the Ape Pan. 
Then there are such 
creatures as the Axis, 
the Alborach, the 


Cacus, the Allocamell, and the Trage- 

And how shall we tell of the Dictyes, the 

Crucigeran, the Gulon, arid the Gorgon ? 

Then there are dissertations on those fearful 

quadrupeds the Orynx and 

the Tarbarine* 

But the Poephagus ought 
to detain the modern stu- 
dent a moment, as it must 
often have engrossed Prince 
Henry by the hour. 

" This great beaste whose 
everie hair is two cubitts in 
length & yet finer than a 
man's, is one of the fear- 
fullest creatures in the 
World : for if he perceive 
him to be but looked at by 
anybody he taketh to his 
heels as fast as he can goe." 
The cause of his fright is 
his tail, which is much 
sought after by the natives 
to bind up their hair. When 
the hunted Poephagus can 
"no longer avoyde the 
hunter then doth he tume 
himselfe, hiding his taile, & looketh upon 
the face of the hunter with some confidence, 
gathering his wits together, as if to face 
out that he had no tayle, & that the residue 
of his body were not worth looking after," 

Sly Poephagus ! But his stratagem is in 
vain. For " they take off the skinne and the 
taile,*' perhaps not even killing him, and so 
leaving the luckless Poephagus to go roaming 
about the country skinless and tailless — a 
piteous sight. But stay + "Volateranus re- 
lateth this otherwise, that the beast biteth off 
his own taile and so delivereth himself from 
the hunter, knowing that he is not desired 
for any other cause," Can we not con- 
jure up the scene for ourselves? 

^Hunter: So 
sorry to trouble you, 
but your taite or 
your life ! 

" Poephagus : No 
trouble at all, I 
assure you. Allow me 
(bites off his faik), 
Pray accept it with 
my compliments 
{hunter btnvs and 

"The Neades were 

certain beastes 

the poephagus. Original fronwrhose voice was so 




terrible that they shook the earth therewith," 
but the Strepficeros, though endowed with a 
more resonant title, was a very simple, 
inoffensive quadruped after all. 

"TheCepus was a Tour-footed beast having 
a face like a Lyon ft some part of the body 
like a panther, being as big as a wild goat 
or Roe-buck, or as one of the dogs of 
Eritkrea & a long taile, the which such of 
them as having tasted flesh will eat from 
their own bodies. 1 ' 

u The Calitrich had a long l>eard and a large 
taile." You perceive the early naturalists set 
great store by an animal's caudal appendage. 
It gave them scope for their descriptive 

And now let us learn something about the 
Cynocephale. "The Cynocephales are a 
kind of Apes, whose heads are like Dogges 
& their other part like a mans. Some there 
are which are able to write & naturally to 
discerne letters which kind the Priests bring 
into their Temples, & at their first entrance, 
the Priest bringeth him a writing Table, a 
pencil & Inke that so by seeing him write he 
may make by all whether he be of the right 
kind & the beast quickly sheweth his skill 
The Nomades, people of Ethiopia & the 
nations of Mentimori live upon the milk of 
Cynocephals, keeping great heards of thern, 
& killing all the males," 

" The Elk is a four-footed beast commonly 


found in Scandinavia* His upper lip hangs 
out so long that he cannot eat but going 
backwards. He is subject to the falling 
sicknesse. the remedy he hath is to lift up the 


right claw of the hinder foot & put it to his 
left ear, It holds the same virtue if you cut 
it off." 

Of tin: ram we art- told that u for six winter 
months he sleeps on his right side ; but after 


the vernal equinoctial he rests on his right, 
/EHanus hath discovered this, but the butchers 
deny it." 

"The Camel hath a manifold belly, either 
because lie hath a great body : or* because he 
eats Thorny & Woody substances, God hath 
provided for the concoction. Puddle water 
is sweet to him, nor will he drink river water, 
till he hath troubled it with his foot He lives 
a hundred years, unlesse the Ayre agree not 
with him* When they are on a journey they 
do not whip them forward : but they sing to 
them, whereby they run so fast that men can 
hardly follow them." 

Modern zoologists must regret the extinc- 
tion of the sixteenth-century She-goat, which, 
according to Prince Henry's natural history, 
11 see as well by night as day* wherefore if 
those that are blind in the night eat a Goats 
liver they are granted sight. They breathe 
out of their eares and nostrils." 

Farther along, the national animal of the 
greatest of British dominions beyond the seas 
is thus described : — 

u The Beaver is a most strong creature to 
bite, he will never let go his teeth that 
meet, before he makes the bones crack* 
His hinder feet are like a Gooses and his 
fore-feet like an Apes. His fat tail is covered 
with a scaly skin, & he uses for a rudder 
when he pursues fish. He comes forth of 
his holes in the night ; & biting off boughs 
of Trees about the Rivers, he makes his 
houses with an upper lofL When they are 
cut asunder they are very delightsome to see ; 
for one liefjrf^jrhlfcftepfr & hath the boughs 




between his legges & others draw him by the 
tail to their cottage, 

"A Baboon is a Creature with a head like 
a dog, but in shape like a man ; he will fish 
cunningly, for he will dive all day, & bring 
forth abundance of 

Here is a picture 
of a Hippopotamus 
or Sea-Horse devour- 
ing a crocodile tail 

11 The Elephant is 
a stranger with us, 
but that the Indians 
8c other places have 
them in common. 
The King of the Palibroti had 90,000 
of them. Many strange things are spoken 
of them. It is certain that of old time 
they carried Castles of armed men into 
the Field. In his heart, says Aldrovandus, 
he hath a wonderful big bone. Aristotle 
maintains that he hath three S to macks. It 
is most certain (continues the careful chroni- 
cler) that in the Kingdom of Malabar they 
talk together, & speak with man's voice. 
There was, saith Ocafta, in Cochin an 
Elephant, who carried things to the Haven 
& laboured in the sea-faring matters : when 
he was weary the Governor of the place did 
force him to draw a galley from the Haven 
which he had begun 
to draw, into the sea: 
the Elephant refused 
it the Governor gave 
him good words, & 
at the last entreated 
him to do it for the 
King of Portugal, 
thereupon (it is hardly 
credible) the ele- 
phant was moored, & 
repeated these two 
words clearly, Hoo, 
H0O1 which in the 
language of Malabar 
is, / will, I wilL & 
he presently drew the ship into the Sea + « . , 
They learn things so eagerly that Pliny says 
that an Elephant that was something dull, & 
was often beat for not learning well, was 
found acting his part by moon light, & some 



say that Elephants will learn lu write iNc 
read. One of them learned to describe the 
Greek letters, &: did write in the same tongue 
these words, I myself writ t/tis. fi 

*' But," concludes the zoologist, conscious 
of having clinched 
the matter by this 
last proof, "/ will 
say no more." 

u The Ichneumon 

is a creature in Egypt 

with a long tail like 

a Serpents, He is 

an enemy to the 

Crocodile ; for when 

he observes him 

sleeping he rolles 

himself in clay, & goes into his mouth, & so 

into his belly &t eats his liver, & then leaps 

forth again," 

Loaded with all his zoological learning we 
can understand how Prince Henry became a 
very bright little boy, far in advance of his 
years. We can also dimly perceive why he 
died so young. 

It is not given to every youth — nor to every 
prince— to devour such marvels and live in 
peace and content at-home or at Court, 
surrounded by the conventions of everyday 
English life. But had he survived this 
accumulation of wisdom, the realm would 
surely have boasted under King Henry IX. 

a " Zoo compared 
with which our pre- 
sent establishment, 
excellent as it is, 
would have been 
paltry indeed. But 
it is too late to re- 
pine. The manti- 
chora, the lamia, the 
gryphon, and the 
poephagus are pre- 
sumably extinct, 
white as for our lions, 
hears, giraffes, and 
the rest of the "foure- 
footed bcastes," 
these appear to have miserably abandoned 
all those curious traits which rendered them 
glorious in little Prince Henry's days, and 
which, we trust, will long reflect lustre on 
their past. 

by Google 

Original from 

n^Mwisiii mmmm 


sat in the private office of 
Tredgolcl and Son, land and 
estate agents, gazing through 
the prim wire blinds at the 
peaceful High Street of Bin- 
chest er. Tredgold senior t who believed in 
work for the young, had left early. Tredgold 
junior, glad at an opportunity c>r sharing his 
father's views, had passed most of the work 
on to a clerk who had arrived in the world 
exactly three weeks after himself. 

Winchester gets duller and duller," said 
Mr. Tredgold to himself, wearily, "Two 
skittish octogenarians, one gloomy baby, one 
gloomier nursemaid, and three dogs in the 

last five minutes. If it wasn't for the dogs 

Halloa I ,n 

He put down his pen and, rising, looked 
over the top of the blind at a girl who was 
glancing from side to side of the road as 
though in search of an address, 

*' A visitor/* continued Mr. Tredgold, 
critically. ** Girls like that only visit Bin- 
chester, and then take the first train back, 
never to return/ 1 

The girl turned at that moment and, 
encountering the forehead and eyes, gazed at 

Copyright, 1904, by W* W. Jacobs, 

them until they sank slowly behind the pro- 
tection of the blind 

"She's coming here," said Mr. Tredgold, 
watching through the wire. " Wants to see 
our time-table, I expect." 

He sat down at the table again, and taking 
up his pen took some papers from a pigeon- 
hole and eyed them with severe thought ful- 

" A lady to see you, sir," said a clerk, 
opening the door, 

Mr. Tredgold rose and placed a chair. 

" I have called for the key of the cottage 
in Dialstone Lane," said the girl, still stanch 
ing, " My uncle, Captain Bowers, has not 
arrived yet, and I am told that you are the 

Mr. Tredgold bowed. "The next train is 
due at six," he observed, with a glance at the 
time-table hanging on the wall; "I expect 
he'll come by that. He was here on Monday 
seeing the last of the furniture in* Are you 
Miss Drewitt?" 

" Yes," said the girl " If you'll kindly give 
me the key* I can go in and wait for him/' 

Mr. Tredgold took it from a drawer. "If 
you will allow me, I will go down with you," 
he said, slowly; "the lock is rather awkward 
for anybody who doesn't understand it," 

10 ^ffM^trttHIGAN 

-L I 



The girl murmured something about not 
troubling him. 

"It's no trouble," said Mr. Tredgold, 
taking up his hat. " It is our duty to do all 
we can for the comfort of our tenants. That 
lock " 

He held the door open and followed her 
into the street, pointing out various objects of 
interest as they went along. 

"I'm afraid you'll find Binchester very 
quiet," he remarked. 

" I like quiet," said his companion. 

Mr. Tredgold glanced at her shrewdly, 
and, pausing only at the Jubilee horse- 
trough to point out beauties which might 
easily escape any but a trained observation, 
walked on in silence until they reached their 

Except in the matter of window-blinds, 
Dialstone Lane had not changed for genera- 
tions, and Mr. Tredgold noted with pleasure 
the interest of his companion as she gazed at 
the crumbling roofs, the red-brick doorsteps, 
and the tiny lattice vindows of the cottages. 
At the last house, a cottage larger than the 
rest, one side of which bordered the old 
churchyard, Mr. Tredgold paused and, in- 
serting his key in the lock, turned it with 
thoughtless ease. 

" The lock seems all right ; I need not 
have bothered you," said Miss Drewitt, 
regarding him gravely. 

"Ah, it seems easy," said Mr. Tredgold, 
shaking his head, "but it wants knack." 

The girl closed the door smartly, and, 
turning the key, opened it again without 
any difficulty. To satisfy herself — on more 
points than one — she repeated the perform- 

"You've got the knack," said Mr. Tred- 
gold, meeting her gaze with great calmness. 
"It's extraordinary what a lot of character 
there is in locks ; they let some people open 
them without any trouble, while others may 
fumble at them till they're tired." 

The girl pushed the door open and stood 
just inside the room. 

"Thank you," she said, and gave him a 
little bow of dismissal. 

A vein of obstinacy in Mr. Tredgold's 
disposition, which its owner mistook for firm- 
ness, asserted itself. It was plain that the 
girl had estimated his services at their true 
value and was quite willing to apprise him 
of the fact. He tried the lock again, and 
with more bitterness than the occasion 
seemed to warrant said that somebody had 
been oiling it. 

" I promised Captain Bowers to come in 

Digitized by L^OOgllC 

this afternoon and see that a few odd things 
had been done," he added. " May I come 
in now ? " 

The girl withdrew into the room, and, 
seating herself in a large arm-chair by the 
fireplace, watched his inspection of door- 
knobs and window-fastenings with an air of 
grave amusement, which he found somewhat 

"Captain Bowers had the walls panelled 
and these lockers made to make the room 
look as much like a ship's cabin as possible," 
he said, pausing in his labours. " He was 
quite pleased to find the staircase opening 
out of the room — he calls it the companion- 
ladder. And he calls the kitchen the pantry, 
which led to a lot of confusion with the 
workmen. Did he tell you of the crow's-nest 
in the garden ? " 

"No," said the girl. 

"It's a fine piece of work," said Mr. 

He opened the door leading into the 
kitchen and stepped out into the garden. 
Miss Drewitt, after a moment's hesitation, 
followed, and after one delighted glance at 
the trim old garden gazed curiously at a mast 
with a barrel fixed near the top, which stood 
at the end. 

" There's a fine view from up there," said 
Mr. Tredgold. " With the captain's glass one 
can see the sea distinctly. I spent nearly 
all last Friday afternoon up there, keeping an 
eye on things. Do you like the garden ? Do 
you think these old creepers ought to be 
torn down from the house?" 

"Certainly not," said Miss Drewitt, with 

"Just what I said," remarked Mr. Tred- 
gold. " Captain Bowers wanted to have them 
pulled down, but I dissuaded him. I advised 
him to consult you first." 

" I don't suppose he *eally intended to," 
said the girl. 

"He did," said the other, grimly; "said 
they were untidy. How do you like the way 
the house is furnished ? " 

The girl gazed at him for a few moments 
before replying. " I like it very much," she 
said, coldly. 

"That's right," said Mr. Tredgold, with an 
air of relief. " You see, I advised the captain 
what to buy. I went with him to Tollminster 
and helped him choose. Your room gave me 
the most anxiety, I think." 

"My room ? " said the girl, starting. 

" It's a dream in the best shades of pink 
and green," said Mr. Tredgold, modestly. 
" Pink on the walls, and carpets and hangings 

■-■I I '_| 1 1 I u I I I ■■_' 




green ; three or four bits of old furniture — 
the captain objected, but I stood firm ; and 
for pictures I had two or three little things 
out of an art journal framed." 

14 Is furnishing jjart of your business ? " 
inquired the girl, eyeing him in bewilder- 

t£ Business ? M said the other. " Oh, no. 
I did it for amusement. I chose and the 
captain paid. It was a 
delightful experience, _ 

The sordid question of 
price was waived ; for 
once expense was no- 
thing to me, I wish 
you'd just step up to 
your room and see how 
you like it. It's the one 
over the kitchen," 

Miss Drewitt hesitated, 
and then curiosity, com- 
bined with a cheerful 
idea of probably being 
able to disapprove of the 
lauded decorations, took 
her indoors and upstairs. 
In a few minutes she 
came down again, 

" I suppose its all 
right," she said, un- 
graciously, "but I don't 
understand why you 
should have selected it," 

u I had to," said Mr, 
Tredgo Id, confident ial 1 y. 
M L happened to go to 
Toll minster the same day 
as the captain and went 
into a shop with him. 
If you could only see the 
things he wanted to buy, 
you would understand," 

The girl was silent. 

" The paper the captain selected for your 
room," continued Mr, Tredgold, severely, 
" was decorated with branches of an unknown 
flowering shrub, on the top twig of which a 
humming-bird sat eating a dragon-fly. A 
rough calculation showed me that every time 
you opened your eyes in the morning you 
would see fifty - seven humming - birds — all 
made in the same pattern — eating fifty-seven 
ditto dragon-flies. The captain said it was 

u I have no doubt that my uncle's selec^ 
tion would have satisfied me," said Miss 
farewitt, coldly. 

"The curtains he fancied were red, with 
small yellow tigers crouching all over them," 

VoL xjfvjj,— &. 

rtti-nt-At k, 


pursued Mr. Tredgold "The captain 
seemed fond of animals." 

W I think that you were rather — venture- 
some," said the girl "Suppose that I had 
not liked the things you selected ? " 

Mr. Tredgold deliberated, " I felt sure 

that you would like them," he said, at last* 

M It was a hard struggle not to keep some of 

the things for myself. I've had my eye on 

those two Chippendale 

chairs for years. They 

belonged to an old 

woman in Mint Street, 

but she always refused 

to part with them, I 

shouldn't have got them, 

only one of them let her 

down the other day," 

"Let her down?" re- 
peated Miss Drewitt, 
sharply. " Do you mean 
one of the chairs in my 
bedroom ? " 

Mr, Tredgold nodded. 
u Gave her rather a nasty 
fall," he said. 4t I struck 
while the iron was hot, 
and went and made her 
an offer while she was 
still laid up from the 
effects of it. It's the one 
standing against the wall ; 
the other's all right, with 
proper care/ 1 

Miss Drewitt, after a 
somewhat long interval, 
thanked him, 

" You must have been 
very useful to my uncle," 
she said, slowly. "I feel 
sure that he would never 
have bought chairs like 
those of his own accord.'' 
" He has been at sea all his life," said Mr. 
Tredgold, in extenuation, " You haven't seen 
him for a long time, have you? " 
"Ten years," was the reply. 
"He is delightful company," said Mr. 
Tredgold "His life has been one long 
series of adventures in every quarter of the 
globe. His stock of yarns is like the widow's 
cruse. And here he comes," he added, as a 
dilapidated fly drew up at the house and 
an elderly man, with a red, weather-beaten 
face, partly hidden in a cloud of grey beard, 
stepped out and stood in the doorway, re- 
garding the girl with something almost akin 
to embarrassment 

"It's not — not Prudence?'' he said, at 
Original from 




length, holding out his hand and staring 
at her. 

" Yes, uncle," said the girl. 

They shook hands, and Captain Bowers, 
reaching up for a cage containing a parrot, 
which had been noisily entreating the cabman 
for a kiss all the way from the station, handed 
that flustered person his fare and entered the 
house again. 

" Glad to see you, my lad," he said, shak- 
ing hands with Mr. Tredgold and glancing 
covertly at his niece. " I hope you haven't 
been waiting long," he added, turning to the 

"No," said Miss Drewitt, regarding him 
with a puzzled air. 

" I missed the train," said the captain. 
" We must try and manage better next time. 
I — I hope you'll be comfortable." 

" Thank you," said the girl. 

"You — you are very like your poor 
mother," said the captain. 

" I hope so," said Prudence. 

She stole up to the captain and, after a 
moment's hesitation, kissed his cheek. The 
next moment she was caught up and crushed 
in the arms of a powerful and affectionate 

" Blest if I hardly knew how to take you 
at first," said the captain, his red face shining 
with gratification. " Little girls are one thing, 
but when they grow up into " — he held her 
away and looked at her proudly — " into hand- 
some and dignified-looking young women, a 
man doesn't quite know where he is." 

He took her in his arms again and, kissing 
her forehead, winked delightedly in the direc- 
tion of Mr. Tredgold, who was affecting to 
look out of the window. 

" My man'll be in soon," he said, releasing 
the girl, " and then we'll see about some tea. 
He met me at the station and I sent him 
straight off for things to eat." 

" Your man ? " said Miss Drewitt. 

" Yes ; I thought a man would be easier to 
manage than a girl," said the captain, know- 
ingly. " You can be freer with 'em in the 
matter of language, and then there's no 
followers or anything of that kind. I got 
him to sign articles ship-shape and proper. 
Mr. Tredgold recommended him." 

" No, no," said that gentleman, hastily. 

" I asked you before he signed on with 
me," said the captain, pointing a stumpy 
forefinger at him. " I made a point of it, 
and you told me that you had never heard 
anything against him." 

" I don't call that a recommendation," said 
Mr. Tredgold. 

Digitized by dOOQle 

" It's good enough in these days," retorted 
the captain, gloomily. " A man that has got 
a character like that is hard to find." 

" He might be artful and keep his faults to 
himself," suggested Tredgold. 

" So long as he does that, it's all right," 
said Captain Bowers. " I can't find fault if 
there's no faults to find fault with. The best 
steward I ever had, I found out afterwards, 
had escaped from gaol. He never wanted 
to go ashore, and when the ship was in port 
almost lived in his pantry." 

41 1 never heard of Tasker having been in 
gaol," said Mr. Tredgold. " Anyhow, I'm 
certain that he never broke out of one ; he's 
far too stupid." . 

As he paid this tribute the young man 
referred to entered laden with parcels, and, 
gazing awkwardly at the company, passed 
through the room on tip-toe and began to 
busy himself in the pantry. Mr. Tredgold, 
refusing the captain's invitation to stay for 
a cup of tea, took his departure. 

"Very nice youngster that," said the 
captain, looking after him. "A little bit 
light-hearted in his ways, perhaps, but none 
the worse for that." 

He sat down and looked round at his 
possessions. "The first real home I've 
had for nearly fifty years," he said, with 
great content. " I hope you'll be as happy 
here as I intend to be. It sha'n't be my 
fault if you're not." 

Mr. Tredgold walked home deep in 
thought, and by the time he had arrived 
there had come to the conclusion that 
if Miss Drewitt favoured her mother, that 
lady must have been singularly unlike 
Captain Bowers in features. 


In less than a week Captain Bowers had 
settled down comfortably in his new com- 
mand. A set of rules and regulations by 
which Mr. Joseph Tasker was to order his 
life was framed and hung in the pantry. He 
studied it with care, and, anxious that there 
should be no possible chance of a misunder- 
standing, questioned the spelling in three 
instances. The captain's explanation that he 
had spelt those words in the American style 
was an untruthful reflection upon a great and 
friendly nation. 

Dialstone Lane was at first disposed to 
look askance at Mr. Tasker. Old-fashioned 
matrons clustered round to watch him clean- 
ing the doorstep, and, surprised at its white- 
ness, withdrew discomfited. Rumour had it 




that he liked work, and scandal said that he 
had wept because he was not allowed to do 
the washing. 

The captain attributed this satisfactory 
condition of affairs to the rules and regu la- 

Captain Bowers looked him up and down. 
He saw a man of about fifty nervously finger- 
ing the little bits of fluffy red whisker which 
grew at the sides of his face, and trying to 
still the agitation of his tremulous mouth. 

jj yry^ ] - - LwiLy -^e^ ? 


tions, though a slight indiscretion on the 
jjart of Mr. Tasker, necessitating the un fram- 
ing of the document to add to the latter, 
caused him a little annoyance. 

The first intimation he had of it was a 
loud knocking at the front door as he sat 
dozing one afternoon in his easy-chair. In 
response to his startled cry of " Come in 1 " 
the door opened and a small man, in a state 
of considerable agitation, burst into the room 
and confronted him, 

"My name is Chalk," he said, breathlessly, 

■* A friend of Mr, Tredgold's?" said the 
captain, " Fve heard of you, sir." 

The visitor paid no heed. 

" My wife wishes to know whether she has 
got to dress in the dark every afternoon for 
the rest of her life," he said, in fierce but 
trembling tones. 

"Got to dress in the dark ? 3T repeated the 
astonished captain, 

"With the blind down/' explained the 

by L^OOgle 

" How would you like it yourself ? " 
demanded the visitor, whose manner was 
gradually becoming milder and milder. 
* l How would you like a telescope a yard 
long pointing — — " 

He broke off abruptly as the captain, with 
a smothered oath, dashed out of his chair 
into the garden and stood shaking his fist at 
the crowds -nest at the bottom, 

" Joseph ! " he bawled, 

" Yes, sir/' said Mr. Tasker, removing the 
telescope described by Mr. Chalk from his 
eye, and leaning over, 

" What are you doing with that spy- 
glass ? ?J demanded his master, beckon- 
ing to the visitor, who had drawn neai. 
M How dare you stare in at people's 
windows ? " 

M I wasn't, sir," replied Mr, Tasker, in an 
injured voice. " I wouldn't think o T such a 
thing — I couldn't, not if I tried." 

" You'd got it pointed straight at my 
bedroom window," cried Mr. Chalk, as he 




accompanied the captain down the garden. 
" And it ain't the first time." 

" I wasn't, sir," said the steward, address- 
ing his master. " I was watching the martins 
under the eaves." 

"You'd got it pointed at my window," 
persisted the visitor. 

" That's where the nests are," said Mr. 
Tasker, " but I wasn't looking in at the 
window. Besides, I noticed you always 
pulled the blind down when you saw me 
looking, so I thought it didn't matter." 

" We can't do anything without being 
followed about by that telescope," said Mi. 
Chalk, turning to the captain. " My wife 
had our house built where it is on purpose, 
so that we shouldn't be overlooked. We 
didn't bargain for a thing like that sprouting 
up in a back-garden." 

" I'm very sorry," said the captain. " I 
wish you'd told me of it before. If I catch 
you up there again," he cried, shaking his 
fist at Mr. Tasker, "you'll remember it. 
Come down ! " 

Mr. Tasker, placing the glass under his 
arm, came slowly and reluctantly down the 

" I wasn't looking in at the window, Mr. 
Chalk," he said, earnestly. " I was watching 
the birds. O' course, I couldn't help seeing 
in a bit, but I always shifted the spy-glass at 
once if there was anything that I thought I 
oughtn't " 

" That'll do," broke in the captain, hastily. 
" Go in and get the tea ready. If I so much 
as see you looking at that glass again we 
part, my lad, mind that." 

" I don't suppose he meant any harm," 
said the mollified Mr. Chalk, after the crest- 
fallen Joseph had gone into the house. " I 
hope I haven't been and said too much, but 
my wife insisted on me coming round and 
speaking about it." 

"You did quite right," said the captain, 
" and I thank you for coming. I told him 
he might go up there occasionally, but I 
particularly warned him against giving any 
annoyance to the neighbours." 

" I suppose," said Mr. Chalk, gazing at 
the erection with interest — " I suppose there's 
a good view from up there ? It's like having 
a ship in the garden, and it seems to remind 
you of the North Pole, and whales, and 
Northern Lights." 

Five minutes later Mr. Tasker, peering 
through the pantry window, was surprised to 
see Mr. Chalk ascending with infinite caution 
to the crow's-nest. His high hat was jammed 
firmly over his brows and the telescope was 

Digitized by^x 1 

gripped tightly under his right arm. The 
journey was evidently regarded as one of 
extreme peril by the climber; but he held 
on gallantly and, arrived at the top, turned 
a tremulous telescope on to the horizon. 

Mr. Tasker took a deep breath and resumed 
his labours. He set the table, and when the 
water boiled made the tea, and went down 
the garden to announce the fact. Mr. Chalk 
was still up aloft, and even at that height 
the pallor of his face was clearly discernible. 
It was evident to the couple below that the 
terrors of the descent w r ere too much for him, 
but that he was too proud to say so. 

" Nice view up there," called the captain. 

« B—b— beautiful," cried Mr. Chalk, with 
an attempt at enthusiasm. 

The captain paced up and down im- 
patiently ; his tea was getting cold, but the 
forlorn figure aloft made no sign. The cap- 
tain waited a little longer, and then, laying 
hold of the shrouds, slowly mounted until 
his head was above the platform. 

" Shall I take the glass for you ? " he in- 

Mr. Chalk, clutching the edge of the cask, 
leaned over and handed it down. 

" My — my foot's gone to sleep," he stam- 

" Ho ! Well, you must be careful how you 
get down," said the captain, climbing on to 
the platform. " Now, gently." < 

He put the telescope back into the cask, 
and, beckoning Mr. Tasker to ascend, took 
Mr. Chalk in a firm grasp and lowered him 
until he was able to reach Mr. Tasker's 
face with his foot. After that the descent 
was easy, and Mr. Chalk, reaching ground 
once more, spent two or three minutes in 
slapping and rubbing, and other remedies 
prescribed for sleepy feet. 

" There's few gentlemen that would have 
come down at all with their foot asleep," 
remarked Mr. Tasker, pocketing a shilling, 
when the captain's back was turned. 

Mr. Chalk, still pale and shaking some- 
what, smiled feebly and followed the captain 
into the house. The latter offered a cup of 
tea, which the visitor, after a faint protest, 
accepted, and taking a seat at the table 
gazed in undisguised admiration at the 
nautical appearance of the room. 

" I could fancy myself aboard ship," he 

" Are you fond of the sea ? " inquired the 

" I love it," said Mr. Chalk, fervently. 
" It was always my idea from a boy to go to 
sea, but somehow I didn't. 1 went into my 




father's business instead, but I never liked 
it. Some people are fond of a stay-at-home 
life, but I always had a hankering after 
advent ures/* 

The captain shook his head. " Ha ! iJ he 
said, impressively* 

u You've had a few 
in your time," said Mr 
Chalk, looking at him, 
grudgingly ; tl Edward 
Tredgold was telling 
me so." 

11 Man and boy, I 
was at sea forty- nine 
years," remarked the 
captain. " Naturally 
things happened in 
that time ; it would 
have been odd if they 
hadn't. lt J s all in a 

" Some lifetimes," 1 
said Mr. Chalk, 
gloomily. u I'm fifty- 
one next year, and the 
only thing I ever had 
happen to me was 
seeing a man stop a 
runaway horse and 

He shook his head 
solemnly over his 
monotonous career 
and, gazing at a war- 
club from Samoa 
which hung over the 
fireplace, put a few 
leading questions to 
the captain concern- 
ing the manner in 
which it came inlo his 
possession. When 

Prudence came in half an hour later he was 
still sitting there, listening with rapt attention 
to his host's tales of distant seas. 

It was the first of many visits. Sometimes 
he brought Mr. Tredgold and sometimes Mr. 
Tredgold brought him, The terrors of the 
crow's-nest vanished before his persevering 
attacks, and perched there with the captain's 
glass he swept the landscape with the air of 
an explorer surveying a strange and hostile 

It was a fitting prelude to the captain's 
tales afterwards, and Mr. Chalk, with the stem 
of his long pipe withdrawn from his open 
mouth, would sit enthralled as his host 
narrated picturesque incidents of hairbreadth 
escaitt^ or, drawing his chair to the table, 

Digitized by IjOOQlc 

made rough maps for his listener's clearer 
understanding. Sometimes the captain took 
him to palm-studded islands in the Southern 
Seas; sometimes tothe ancient worlds of China 
and Japan. He became an expert in nautical 
terms. He walked in 
knots, and even 
ordered a new carpet 
in fathoms — after the 
shop-keeper had 
demonstrated, by 
means of his little 
boys arithmetic book, 
the difference between 
l hat measurement and 
a furlong. 

'* I'll have a voyage 
before I'm much 
older," he remarked 
one afternoon, as he 
sat in the captain's 
sitting-room, M Since 
1 retired from busi- 
ness time hangs very 
heavy sometimes, 
I've got a fancy for 
a small 
yacht, but 
1 suppose 
I couldn't 
go a long 
voyage in 
_ ^ar-— to . a small 

44 Smaller 
the bet- 
ter," said 
who was 
sitting by 
the win- 
dow watching Miss Drewitt sewing. 

Mr. Chalk took his pipe from his mouth 
and eyed him inquiringly. 

"Less to lose/' explained Mr. Tredgold, 
with a scarcely perceptible glance at the 
captain. " Look at the dangers you'd be 
dragging your craft into, Chalk ; there would 
be no satisfying you with a quiet cruise in 
the Mediterranean." 

"I shouldn't run into unnecessary danger," 
said Mr. Chalk, seriously. "I'm a married 
man, and there's my wife to think of. What 
would become of her if anything happened 
to me ? " 

11 Why, you've got plenty of money to 
leave, haven't you?" inquired Mr. Tred- 
gold. Original from 







"I was thinking of her losing mef* replied 
Mr. Chalk* with a touch of acerbity. 

"Oh, I didn't think of that," said the 
other. " Yes, to be sure*" 

"Captain Bowers was telling me the other 
day of a woman who wore widow's weeds for 
thirty-five years," said Mr, Chalk, impres- 
sively. "And all the time her husband was 
married again and got a big family in 
Australia- There's nothing in the world so 
faithful as a woman's heart." 

"Well, if you're lost on a cruise, I shall 
know where to look for you/' said Mr. 
Tredgold. "But 1 don't think the captain 
ought to put such ideas into your head." 

Mr. Chalk looked bewildered. Then he 
scratched his left whisker with the stem of 
his churchwarden pipe and looked severely 
over at Mr, Tredgold. 

M don't think you ought to talk that way 
before ladies/' he said, primly, iv Of course, 
I know you're only in joke, but there's some 
people can't see jokes as quick as others and 
tht-y might get a wrong idea of you," 

"What part did you think of going to for 
your cruise ?" interposed Captain Bowers. 

"There's nothing settled yet," said Mr. 
Chalk ; "it's just an idea, that's all I was 
talking to your father the other day," he 
added, turning to Mr. Tredgold ; " just 
sounding him, so to speak." 

Digitized by Google 

"You take him," said that dutiful son, 
briskly. " It would do him a world of good ; 
me, too." 

" He said he couldn't afford either the time 
or the money/ 1 said Mr. Chalk, " The thing 
to do would be to combine business with 
pleasure — to take a yacht and find a sunken 
galleon loaded with gold pieces. I've heard of 
such things being done," 

" IVe heard of it," said the captain, 

" Bottom of the ocean must be paved 
with them in places/' said Mr. Tredgold, 
rising, and following Miss Drewitt, who had 
gone into the garden to plant seeds. 

Mr. Chalk refilled his pipe and* accepting 
a match from the captain, smoked slowly. 
His gaze was fixed on the window, but 
instead of Dialstone I-ane he saw tumbling 
blue seas and islets far away. 

"That's something you\e never come 
across, I suppose, Captain Bowers ? " he 
remarked at last. 

*• No," said the other. 

Mr Chalk, with a vain attempt to conceal 
his disappointment, smoked on for some time 
in silence. The blue seas disappeared, and 
he saw instead the brass knocker of the 
house opposite. 

" Nor any other kind of craft with treasure 
aboard, I suppose ? " he suggested, at last, 




The captain put his hands on his knees 
and stared at the floor. "No," he said, 
slowly, " I can't call to mind any craft ; but 
it's odd that you should have got on this 
subject with me." 

Mr. Chalk laid his pipe carefully on the 
table. " Why ? " he inquired. 

"Well," said the captain, with a short 
laugh, " it is odd, that's all." 

Mr. Chalk fidgeted with the stem of his 
pipe. " You know of sunken treasure some- 
where ? " he said, eagerly. 

The captain smiled and shook his head ; 
the other watched him narrowly. 

" You know of some treasure ? " he said, 
with conviction. 

" Not what you could call sunken," said 
the captain, driven to bay. 

Mr. Chalk's pale-blue eyes opened to their 
fullest extent. " Ingots ? " he queried. 

The other shook his head. " It's a 
secret," he remarked ; " we won't talk about 

" Yes, of course, naturally, I don't expect 
you to tell me where it is," said Mr. Chalk, 
" but I thought it might be interesting to hear 
about, that's all." 

" It's buried," said the captain, after a 
long pause. " I don't know that there's any 
harm in telling you that ; buried in a small 
island in the South Pacific." 

" Have you seen it ? " inquired Mr. Chalk. 

" I buried it," rejoined the other. 

Mr. Chalk sank back in his chair and 
regarded him with awestruck attention ; 
Captain Bowers, slowly ramming home a 
charge of tobacco with his thumb, smiled 

" Buried it," he repeated, musingly, " with 
the blade of an oar for a spade. It was a 
long job, but it's six foot down and the dead 
man it belonged to atop of it," 

The pipe fell from the listener's fingers 
and smashed unheeded on the floor. 

" You ought to make a book of it," he said 
at last. 

The captain shook his head. " I haven't 
got the gift of story-telling," he said, simply. 
"Besides, you can understand I don't 
want it noised about. People might bother 

He leaned back in his chair and bunched 
his beard in his hand ; the other, watching 
him closely, saw that his thoughts were busy 
with some scene in his stirring past. 

"Not a friend of yours, I hope?" said 
Mr. Chalk, at last. 

"Who?" inquired the captain, starting 
from his reverie. 

Digitized by LjOOgle 

"The dead man atop of the treasure," 
replied the other. 

"No," said the captain, briefly. 

"Is it worth much?" asked Mr. Chalk. 

" Roughly speaking, about half a million," 
responded the captain, calmly. * 

Mr. Chalk rose and walked up and down 
the room. His eyes were bright and his 
face pinker than usual. 

"Why don't you get it?" he demanded, 
at last, pausing in front of his host 

"Why, it ain't mine," said the captain, 
staring. "D'ye think I'm a thief?" 

Mr. Chalk stared in his turn. " But who 
does it belong to, then ? " he inquired. 

" I don't know," replied the captain. " All 
I know is, it isn't mine, and that's enough for 
me. Whether it was rightly come by I don't 
know. There it is, and there it'll stay till the 
crack of doom." 

" Don't you know any of his relations or 
friends ? " persisted the other. 

" I know nothing of him except his name," 
said the captain, "arid I doubt if even that 
was his right one. Don Silvio he called him- 
self — a Spaniard. It's over ten years ago 
since it happened. My ship had been bought 
by a firm in Sydney, and while I was wait- 
ing out there I went for a little run on a 
schooner among the islands. This Don 
Silvio was aboard of her as a passenger. 
She went to pieces in a gale, and we were the 
only two saved. The others were washed 
overboard, but we got ashore in the boat, and 
I thought from the trouble he was taking 
over his bag that the danger had turned his 

"Ah!" said the keenly -interested Mr. 

" He was a sick man aboard ship," con 
tinued the captain, " and I soon saw that he 
hadn't saved his life for long. He saw it, too, 
and before he died he made me promise that 
the bag should be buried with him and never 
disturbed. After I'd promised, he opened 
the bag and showed me what was in it. It 
was full of precious stones — diamonds, rubies, 
and the like ; some of them as large as 
birds' eggs. I can see him now, propped 
up against the boat and playing with 
them in the sunlight. They blazed like 
stars. Half a million he put them at, or 

"What good could they be to him when 
he was dead ? " inquired the listener. 

Captain Bowers shook his head. "That 
was his business, not mine," he replied. " It 
was nothing to do with me. When he died 
I dug a grave for him, as I told you, with a 




bit of a broken our, and laid him and the "With my map," said the captain, slowly, 

bag together. A month afterwards I was "Before I left I made a map of the island 

taken off by a passing schooner and landed and got its position from the schooner that 

safe at Sydney." picked me up ; but I never heard a word 

Mr. Chalk stooped, and mechanically from that day to this. 1, 



one rnnpoUKurNG A j^jser."" 

picking up the pieces of his pipe placed 
them on the table. 

** Suppose that you had heard afterwards 
that the things had been stolen ? ,? he 

"If F had, then I should have given in- 
formation, I think/' said the other. li It all 

"Ah ! but how could you have found them 
again?" inquired Mr. Chalk, with the air of 
one propounding a poser. 

"Could you find them now?" said Mr. 

11 Why not ? ?1 said the captain, with 
a short laugh. "The island hasn't run 

He rose as he spoke and, tossing the 
fragments of his visitor's pipe into the fire- 
place, invited him to take a turn in the 
garden. Mr. Chalk, after a feeble attempt 
to discuss the matter further, reluctantly 

(To be amtimtid-) 

by Google 

Original from 

Illustrated Interviews. 

By Cleveland Moffett. 

ERY well do I remember my 
first impression of ML Curie, 
It was in the Rue Cuvier, at 
tlie Sorbonne Laboratories in 
Paris, where he was lecturing 
that day in the big amphi- 
theatre, while I waited in an adjoining room 
among the air-pumps and electrical appa- 
ratus. Suddenly a door opened and there 
rame a burst of applause, a long clapping of 
hands, and at the same moment a tall, pate 
man, slightly bent, walked slowly across the 

On this occasion I simply made an ap- 
pointment to see ML Curie the next morning 
at the ficole dc Physique ; but I profited 
by the opportunity to ask his assistant, M. 
Damie, some prelimi- 
nary questions about 
radium, Was it true, 
could it be true, that 
this strange substance 
gives forth heat and 
light ceaselessly and 
is really an inexhaus- 
tible source of energy? 
Of course, I had read 
all this, but I wanted 
to hear it from the 
mouth of one who 

41 It is quite true," 
said M. Danne, ** that 
pure radium gives out 
light and heat with- 
out any waste or 

diminution that can be detected by our 
most delicate instruments. That is all wu 
can say* 1 ' 

i( Is the light that it gives a bright light ? " 
" Reasonably bright, M, Curie will show 

" Can he explain it ? Can anyone explain 

"There are various theories, but they 
really explain very little." 

M. Danne went on to indicate other pro- 
perties of radium that are scarcely less 
startling than these. Besides heat and light 
this strange metal gives out constantly three 
kinds of invisible rays that move with the 
velocity of light, or thereabouts, and that 
have separate and well - marked attributes. 
These rays may be helpful or harmful, they 

Vol. KxviL— 9p 

may destroy life or stimulate it They are 
capable not only of shortening life or pro- 
longing it, but of modifying existing forms of 
life — that is, of actually creating new species. 
Finally, by destroying bacteria, they may be 
used to cure disease, notably the dread lupus, 
recently conquered by Finsen's lamps, and 
now apparently conquered again by a simpler 

1 listened in amazement ; it was not one 
discovery, but a dozen, that we were con- 

"And — all this is M. Curie's discovery?" 
" Radium is his discovery ; that is, his and 
Mme. Curie's. You cannot give one more 
credit than the other. They did it together/' 
He told me a little about Mme. Curie, 
who, it appears, was 
a Polish student in 
the Latin Quarter, 
very poor, but pos- 
sessed of rare talents. 
They say that her 
marriage with M. 
Curie was just such 
a union as must have 
produced some fine 
result Without his 
scientific teaming and 
vivid imagination it 
is doubtful if radium 
would ever have 
been dreamed of, and 
without her deter- 
mination and patience 
against detail it is 
would never have been 


From a Photo. 

by Google 

likely the dream 

The next day I found M. Curie in one of 
the rambling sheds of the Ecole de Physique 
bending over a small porcelain dish, where a 
colourless liquid was simmering, perhaps half 
a teacupful, and he wis watching it with 
concern, always fearful of some accident He 
had lost nearly a decigramme (15 grains troy) 
of radium, he said, only a few weeks before 
in a curious way. He had placed some 
radium salts in a small tube, and this in- 
side another tube, in which he created a 
vacuum. Then he began to heat both 
tubes over an electric furnace, when> sud- 
denly, at about 2,000 degrees F., there 
came an explosion which shattered the tubes 
and scattered their precious contents, There 

Original from 




was absolutely no explanation of this ex- 
plosion ; it was one of the tricks that radium 
is apt to play on you. Here his face 
lightened with quite a boyish smile. 

M. Curie proceeded to explain what he 
was doing with the little dish ; he was refining 
some radium dissolved in it — that is, freeing 
it from contaminating barium by repeated 
crystallization, this being the last and most 
delicate part of the process of obtaining the 
pure metal. 

"We have our radium works outside 
Paris," he said, " where the crude ore goes 
through its early stages of separation and 
where the radium is brought to an intensity 
of 2,000, as we express it. After that the 
process requires such care and involves so 
much risk of waste that we keep the pre- 
cious stuff in our own hands and treat it 
ourselves, my wife and I, as I am doing now, 
to bring it to the higher intensities, 50,000, 
200,000, .500,000, and, finally, 1,500,000. 
What you see here is about 100,000. It will 
take many more crystallizations to bring it to 
the maximum. ,, 

" That is, to the state of pure radium ? " 

"To the state of pure chloride of 
radium. You know the metal exists only 
as a chloride or bromide. It has never 
yet been isolated, although it easily might 

" Why has it never been isolated ? " 

" Because it would not be stable ; it would 
immediately be oxidized by the air and 
destroyed, as happens with sodium, whereas 
it remains permanent as a bromide or 
chloride and suffers no change." 

" Does radium chaitge in appearance as it 
increases in intensity ? " I asked. 

"No; it keeps the form of small white 
crystals, which may be crushed into a white 
powder, and which look like ordinary salt. 
See, here are some." 

He took from the table drawer a small 
glass tube, not much larger than a thick 
match. It was sealed at both ends and 
partly covered with a fold of lead. Inside 
the tube I could see a white powder. 

" Why is the tube wrapped with lead ? " I 

" For the protection of those who handle 
it. Lead stops the harmful rays, that would 
otherwise make trouble." 


" Yes ; you see the radium in this tube is 
very active ; it has an intensity of 1,500,000. 
and if I were to lay it against your hand 
or any part of your body, so " — he touched 
mv hand with the bare tube — " and if I were 

by K: 



to leave it there for a few minutes, you would 
certainly hear from it later." 

" But I feel nothing." 

" Of course not ; neither did I feel any- 
thing when I touched some radium here," 
and pulling up his sleeve he showed me a 
forearm scarred and reddened from fresh- 
healed sores. " But you see what it did, and 
it was much less intense than this specimen." 

He then mentioned an experience of his 
friend, Professor Becquerel, discoverer of 
the " Becquerel rays " of uranium, and in a 
way the parent-discoverer of radium, since 
the latter discovery grew out of the former. 
It seems that Professor Becquerel, in jour- 
neying to London, carried in his waistcoat 
pocket a small tube of radium to be used 
in a lecture there. Nothing happened at 
the time, but about a fortnight later the 
professor observed that the skin under his 
pocket was beginning to redden and fall 
away, and finally a deep and painful sore 
formed there and remained for weeks before 
healing. A peculiar feature of these radium 
sores is that they do not appear for some 
considerable time after exposure to the rays. 

"Then radium is an element of destruc- 
tion ? " I remarked. . 

" Undoubtedly it has a power of destruc- 
tion, but that power may be tempered or 
controlled, for instance, by this covering of 
lead. M. Danysz, at the Pasteur Institute, 
will give you the pathological facts better 
than I can." 

This brought us back to physical facts, 
and I asked M. Curie if the radium before 
us was at that moment giving out heat and 
light, for I could perceive neither. 

"Of course it is," he replied. "I will 
take you into a dark room presently and let 
you see the light for yourself. As for the 
heat, a thermometer would show that this 
tube of radium is 27 degrees F. warmer than 
the surrounding air." 

" Is it always that much warmer ? " 

" Always — so far as we know. I may put 
it more simply by saying that a given 
quantity of radium will melt its own weight 
of ice every hour." 

" For ever ? " 

He smiled. "So far as we know — for 
ever. Or, again, that a given quantity of 
radium throws out as much heat in eighty 
hours as an equal weight of coal would throw 
out if burned to complete combustion in one 

" Suppose you had a considerable quantity 
of radium," I suggested, " say twenty pounds, 
or a hundred pounds ? " 

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"The law would be the same, whatever 
the quantity. If we had fifty kilos {no 
pounds) of radium "—he gave a little wonder- 
ing cluck at the thought — "I say // we had 
fifty kilos of radium it would give out as 
much heat continuously as a stove would 
give out that burned ten kilos (twenty-two 
{i^unds) of coal every twenty-four hours, and 
was filled up fresh every day. 5 * 

"And the radium would never cease to 
give out this heat and would never be con- 
sumed ? " 
"Never is a hard word, but one of our 

j>age, And T of course, this was a very small 
quantity of radium, about six centigrammes 
(nine-tenths of a grain troy). 

"We estimate," said he, "that a deci- 
gramme of radium will illuminate a square 
decimetre (fifteen square inches) of surface 
sufficient for reading." 

"And a kilogramme (22 pounds) of 
radium ? w 

" A kilogramme of radium would illuminate 
a room thirty feet square with a mild radi- 
ance ; and the light would be much brighter 
if screens of sulphide of zinc were placed 


professors has calculated that a given quan- 
tity of radium, after throwing out heat as I 
have stated for a thousand million years, 
*'ould have lost only one-millionth part of 
its bulk Others think the loss might be 
greater, say an ounce to a ton in ten thousand 
years, but in any caae it is so infinitesimally 
small that we have no means of measuring it, 
and for practical purposes it does not exist," 
After this M. Curie took me into a darkened 
room, where I saiv finite plainly the light 
from the radium tube, a clear glow sufficient 
to read by if the tube were held near a printed 

Digitized by GoOglc 

near the radium, for these are thrown by the 
metal into a brilliant phosphorescence." 

"Then radium may be the light of the 
future ? " 

M Curie shook his head. " I am afraid 
that we should pay rather dearly for such a 
light. There is first the money cost to be 
considered, and then the likelihood that the 
people illuminated by radium would be also 
stricken with paralysis, blindness, and various 
nervous disorders. Possibly protective screens 
might be devised against these dangers, but 
it is too soon to think of that* For a long 

Original from 




time to come the radium light will be only a 
laboratory wonder." 

After we had been in the darkness for 
some time M. Curie wrapped the radium 
tube in thick paper and put it in my hand 

" Now," said he, " shut your eyes and 
press this against your right eyelid/' 

I did as he bade me, and straightway had 
the sensation of a strange diffused light out- 
side my eye. M. Curie assured me, how- 
ever, that the light was not outside but inside 
the eye, the radium rays having the property 
of making the liquids of the eyeball self- 
luminous, a sort of internal phosphorescence 
being produced. He warned me that it 
would be dangerous to leave the radium 
against the eyelid very long, as a serious dis- 
turbance to the eyesight, or even blindness, 
might result. 

Another experiment consisted in placing 
the radium against the bone at the side of 
tfie forehead, and even in this position, with 
the eyes closed, a light was perceptible, 
although fainter. Here the radium rays had 
acted upon the eyeball through the bones of 
the head. 

"It is possible," said M. Curie, " that this 
property of radium may be utilized in certain 
diseases of the eye. Dr. Emile Javal, one 
of our distinguished physicians, who is blind 
himself, has given this matter particular 
attention, and he thinks that radium may 
offer a precious means of diagnosis in cases 
of cataract, by showing whether the retina is 
or is not intact, and whether an operation 
will succeed. If a person blind from cataract 
can see the radium light as you have just 
seen it, then the eyesight of that person may 
be restored by removing the cataract Other- 
wise it cannot be restored." 

As we returned to the laboratory I re- 
marked that the quantity of radium in the 
various tubes I had seen was very small. 

" Of course it is small," he sighed ; " there 
is very little radium in the world. I mean 
very little that has been taken from the earth 
and purified." 

" How much is there ? " 

He thought a moment. " We have about 
one gramme (one-third of an ounce) in 
France, Germany may have one gramme, 
America has less than one gramme, and the 
rest of the world may perhaps have half a 
gramme. Four grammes in all would be 
an outside estimate ; you could heap it all in 
a tablespoon." 

I suggested to M. Curie the possibility 
that some philanthropist might be inspired 
on reading his words to help the new cause. 

by Google 

And I remarked that great things could 
doubtless be accomplished with some sub- 
stantial quantity of radium, say a pound or 

He gave me an amused look and asked 
if I had any idea what a pound or two of 
radium, say a kilogramme (two and one-fifth 
pounds), would cost. 

"Why, no," said I, "no exact idea; 
but " 

" A kilogramme of radium would cost " — 
he figured rapidly on a sheet of paper — " with 
the very cheapest methods that we have of 
purifying the crude material it would cost 
about ten million francs (^400,000). Under 
existing conditions radium is worth about 
three thousand times its weight in pure 

" And yet there may be tons of it in the 

M. Curie was not so sure of this. "It 
is doubtful," said he, "if there is very 
much radium in the earth, and what there 
is is so thinly scattered in the surrounding 
ore — mere traces of radium for tons of 
worthless rock — that the cost of extracting 
it is almost prohibitive. You will realize this 
when you visit our works at Ivry." 

These works I visited the next day, and 
found myself outside the walls of Paris, near 
the old Ivry Cemetery, where some unpre- 
tentious sheds serve for this important busi- 
ness of radium extraction. One of the head 
men met me and explained, step by step, how 
they obtain this strange and elusive metal. 
First he showed me a lumpy reddish powder, 
sacks of it, brought from Bohemia by the ton, 
and constituting the raw material from which 
the radium is extracted. This powder is the 
refuse from uranium mines at Jachimsthal; 
that is, what remains of the original uranite 
ore, pitchblende, after the uranium has been 
removed. For years this refuse was regarded 
as worthless, and was left to accumulate in 
heaps, tons of it, quite at the disposal of 
whoever chose to cart it away. Now that it 
is known to contain the rarest and most 
precious substance in the world, it goes 
without saying that the owners have begun 
to put a price on it. 

My informant referred with proper pride 
to the difficulties that had confronted them 
when they started these radium works in 
1 90 1. It was a new problem in practical 
chemistry to bring together infinitesimal 
traces of a metal lost in tons of debris. It 
was like searching for specks of dust hidden 
in a sand-heap, or for drops of perfume 
scattered in a river. Still, they went at it 

Original from 




with good heart, for the end justified the 
effort. If it took a ton of uranite dust to 
yield a* much radium as would half fill a 
dolls thimble, then the thing to do was to 
have many tons of this dust sent on from 
Bohemia, and patiently to accumulate, after 
months of handling, various pinches of 
radium, a few centigrammes, then a few 
decigrammes, and finally some day — who 
could tell? — they might get as much as a 
gramme* This was a distant prospect, to 
be sure, yet with infinite pains and all the 
resources of chemistry it might be attained. 
Well, now they had attained it, and at this 

were much peeled, and very sore from too 
much contact with radium, and for several 
days he had been unable to dress himself ; 
but he took it good-naturedly* and proceeded 
to describe some of the experiments he had 
made before British scientists. 

In order to demonstrate that radium 
throws off heat continually he took two 
glass vessels, one containing a thermometer 
and a tube of radium, the other containing a 
thermometer and no radium. Both vessels 
were closed with cotton, and it was presently 
seen that the thermometer in the vessel 
containing the radium registered constantly 



time, he said, some eight tons of uranite 
detritus had passed through the caldrons and 
great glass jars and muddy barrels of the Ivry 
establishment, had been boiled and filtered 
and decanted and crystallized, with much 
fuming of acids and the steady glow of fur- 
naces ; and out of it all, for the twenty -four 
months' effort, there had come just about 
a gramme of practically pure chloride of 
radium— enough white powder to fill a salt- 

When ne\t I saw M. Curie he had just 
returned from London, where he had lectured 
before the Royal Institution, His hands 

by Google 

54 degrees F. higher than the thermometer 
which was not so influenced. 

The most striking experiment presented by 
M Curie in his London lecture was one 
devised by him to prove the existence of 
radium emanations, a kind of gaseous product 
(quite different from the rays) which this 
extraordinary metal seems to throw off con- 
stantly as it throws off heat and light. These 
emanations may be regarded as an invisible 
vapour of radium, like water vapour, only 
infinitely more subtle, which settles u[w>n 
all objects that it approaches and confers 
upon them, for a time at least, the mysterious 
Original from 





properties of radium itself. Thus the yellow 
powder sulphide of zinc bursts into a brilliant 
glow under the stimulus of radium emana- 
tions, and to make it clear that this effect is 
due to the emanations and not to the rays 
M. Curie constructed an apparatus in which 
a glass tube, R, containing a solution of 
radium is connected with two glass bulbs, 
A and B, containing sulphide of zinc. 

The experiment is begun by exhausting 
the air from the two bulbs A and B, by 
means of air-pump connections through the 
tube E. The air is not exhausted, how- 
ever, from the tube R, over which the 
stop-cock F is closed, and within which 
the emanations have been allowed to accu- 
mulate. The room is now darkened, and 
it is seen that so long as the stop-cock F 
remains closed there is no glow in the 
bulbs A and B, but as soon as the stop- 
cock F is opened both bulbs shine bril- 
liantly, so that the light 
is plainly visible at a dis- 
tance of several hundred 
yards. Now, obviously, 
if this effect were due to 
the radium rays, it would 
be produced whether the 
stop-cock F were open or 
closed, since the radium 
rays pass freely through 
glass and need not follow 
the tube S in order to 
reach the bulbs A and B. 
It is therefore clear that 
the sudden light in the 
bulbs is due to the pas- 
sage of something out of 
the tube R, and through the tube S, that some- 
thing being kept back by the glass of the 
bulb R until the stop-cock F is opened. So 
we conclude that the emanations of radium 
cannot pass through glass, and are a mani- 
festation quite distinct from the rays of 
radium, which can pass through but do not 
influence the sulphide of zinc. 

This point having been established, M. 
Curie proceeded to the most sensational 
part of his demonstration, by closing the 
stop-cock F and then placing the lower bulb 
B, still radiant, in a vessel G containing 
liquid air, the result being that the light in 
the bulb B gradually grew stronger while 
the light in the bulb A diminished, until, 
presently, all the light seemed concentrated 
in B and gone from A, the conclusion being 
that the intense cold of liquid air had pro- 
duced some change in the emanations, had 
possibly reduced them from a gas to a liquid, 

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thus withdrawing them from A to B and 
checking the one glow while increasing the 

In talking with . Sir William Crookes, 
M. Curie was interested to learn that the 
English scientist had just devised a curious 
little instrument which he has named the 
spinthariscope, and which allows one to 
actually .see the emanations from radium 
and to realize as never before the extra- 
ordinary atomic disintegration that is going 
on ceaselessly in this strange metal. The 
spinthariscope is a small microscope that 
allows one to look at a tiny fragment of 
radium, about one-twentieth of a milligramme, 
supported on a little wire over a screen 
spread with sulphide of zinc. 

The experiment must be made in a 
darkened room after the eye has gradually 
acquired its greatest sensitiveness to light 
To the eye thus sensitive and looking intently 
through the lenses the 
screen appears like a 
heaven of flashing me- 
teors, among which stars 
shine forth suddenly and 
die away. Near the cen- 
tral radium speck the fire 
shower is most brilliant, 
while towards the rim of 
the circle it grows fainter. 
And this goes on con- 
tinuously as the metal 
throws off its emanations ; 
these myriad bursting 
blazing stars are the 
emanations — at least, we 
. may assume it — and 
become visible as the scattered radium 
dust or radium vapour impinges speck by 
speck upon the screen, which, for each 
tiny fragment, flashes back a responsive 
phosphorescence. M. Curie spoke of this 
vision, that was really contained within the 
area of a two-cent piece, as one of the most 
beautiful and impressive he had ever wit- 
nessed ; it was as if he had been allowed to 
assist at the birth of a universe — or at the 
death of a molecule. 

Dwelling upon the extreme attenuation 
of these radium emanations, M. Curie men- 
tioned a recent experiment, in which he had 
used a platinum box pierced by two holes so 
extremely small that the box would retain 
a vacuum, yet not small enough to resist the 
passage of radium emanations. 

In view of the extreme rarity and costli- 
ness of radium, it is evident that its emana- 
tions may be put to many important uses 

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in and out of the laboratory, since they 
bestow upon indifferent objects — a plate, a 
piece of iron, an old shoe, anything — the 
very properties of radium itself. Thus a 
scientist or a doctor unable to procure the 
metal radium may easily experiment with a 
bit of wood or glass rendered radio-active — 
that is, charged by radium emanations, and 
capable of replacing the original metal as 
long as the charge keeps its potency. This 
period has been determined by the Curies 
after observations extending over weeks and 
months, and applied to all sorts of sub- 
stances, copper, aluminium, lead, rubber, wax, 
celluloid, paraffin, no fewer than fifty in all, 
the resulting conclusions being formulated 
in a precise law as follows : — 

(1) All substances may be rendered radio-active 
through the influence of radium emanations. 

(2) Substances thus influenced retain their induced 
radio-activity very much longer when guarded in a 
small enclosure through which the emanations cannot 
pass (say a sealed glass tube) than when not so 
guarded. In the former case their radio-activity 
diminishes one-half every four days. In the latter 
case it diminishes one-half every twenty-eight minutes. 

I must pass rapidly over various other 
wonders of radium that M. Curie laid before 
me. New matter is accumulating every week 
as the outcome of new investigations. Even 
in the chemistry of radium, which is practi- 
cally an unexplored field, owing to the scarcity 
and costliness of the metal, there are various 
facts to be noted, as these : that radium 
changes the colour of phosphorus from yellow 
to red; that radium rays increase the pro- 
duction of ozone in certain cases ; that a 
small quantity of radium dissolved in water 
throws off hydrogen constantly by causing 
a disintegration of the water, the oxygen 
released being absorbed in some unknown 
molecular combination. Also that a solution 
of radium gives a violet or brownish tint to a 
glass vessel containing it, this tint being per- 
manent, unless the glass be heated red hot. 
Here, by the way, is an application of im- 
portance in the arts, for radium may thus 
be used to modify the colours of glass and 
crystals, possibly of gems. It is furthermore 
established that radium offers a ready means 
of distinguishing real from imitation dia- 
monds, since it causes the real stones to 
burst into a brilliant phosphorescence when 
brought near them in a darkened room, 
while it has scarcely any such effect upon 
false stones. M. Curie made this experi- 
ment recently at a reception in Lilte, to the 
great delight of the guests. 

Coming now to what may be the most 
important properties of radium — that is, those 

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which influence animal life — we may follow 
M. Curie's advice and visit the Pasteur 
Institute, where for some months now a 
remarkable series of radium tests has been 
in progress. 

M. Danysz is convinced that all animals, 
probably all forms of life, would succumb to 
the destructive force of radium if employed 
in sufficient quantities. 

" I have no doubt," said he, " that a kilo- 
gramme of radium would be sufficient to 
destroy the population of Paris, granting that 
they came within its influence. Men and 
women would be killed just as easily as mice. 
They would feel nothing during their exposure 
to the radium, nor realize that they were 
in any danger. And weeks would pass after 
their exposure before anything would happen. 
Then gradually the skin would begin to peel 
off and their bodies would become one great 
sore. Then they would become blind. Then 
they would die from paralysis and congestion 
of the spinal cord." 

Despite this rather gloomy prospect, 
certain experiments at the Pasteur Institute 
may encourage us to believe that, for all its 
menace of destruction, radium is destined 
to bring substantial benefits to suffering 
humankind. The substance of these favour- 
able experiments is that, while animal life 
may undoubtedly suffer great harm from 
radium when used in excess or wrongly 
used (the same is true of strychnine), it 
may also derive immense good from radium 
when used within proper bounds, these to 
be set when we have gained a fuller know- 
ledge of the subject. Meantime it is worthy 
of note that some of M. Danysz's animals, 
when exposed to the radium for a short time, 
or to radium of lower intensity, or to radium 
at a greater distance, have not perished, but 
have seemed to thrive under the treatment. 

But the most startling experiment per- 
formed thus far at the Pasteur Institute is 
one undertaken by M. Danysz, February 3rd, 
1903, when he placed three or four dozen little 
worms that live in flour, the larvae Ephestia 
kuehniella> in a glass flask, where they were 
exposed for a few hours to the rays of 
radium. He placed a like number of larvae 
in a control flask where there was no 
radium, and he left enough flour in each 
flask for the larvae to live upon. After 
several weeks it was found that most of the 
larvae in the radium flask had been killed, 
but that a few of them had escaped the 
destructive action of the rays by crawling 
away to distant corners of the flask, where 
they were still living. But they were living 
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as iarvi€ y not as moths y whereas in the 
natural course they should have become 
moths long before, as was seen by the con- 
trol flask, where the larvae had all changed 
into moths, and these had hatched their eggs 
into other lurva\ iind these had produced 
other moths. All of which made it clear 
that the radium rays had arrested the 
development of these little worms. 

More weeks passed and still three or four 
of the larvre lived, and four full months 
after the original exposure I saw a larva 
alive and writing while its contemporary 
larva? in the other jar had long since passed 
away as aged moths, leaving generations of 
moths' eggs and larvae to witness this miracle, 
for here was a larva, venerable among his 
kind, a patriarch Ephesiia kut family that 




had actually 
lived through 
three times the 
span of lift ar- 
corded to his 
fellow s t and 
that still 
showed no 
sign of chang- 
ing into a 
moth. It w T as 
very much as 
if a young man 
of twenty-one 
should keep 
the appear- 
ance of twenty- 
one for two 
hundred and 
fiftv vears I 

Not less re- 
markable than 
these are some 
recent experi- 
ment! made 
by M. Bohn at 
the biological 
laboratories of 
the Sorbonne, 
his conclusions 
being that ra- 
dium may ^p 
far modify 
various lower 
forms of life 
as to actually 
11 monsters," 
abnormal devi- 
ations from 
the original 
type of the species. Thus tadpole monsters 
have been formed from tadpoles exposed 
four days after birth to radium rays. Some 
of these monsters lived for twenty ■ three 
days, and would doubtless have lived 
longer had they been exposed to the rays 
for a shorter time. No changes occur in 
the tadpoles treated except at the transi- 
tion points of growth, as on the eighth day, 
when the breathing tentacles are covered by 
gills in tht* normal tadpole, but are not so 
covered in the monsters formed after radium 
treatment. These monsters take on a new- 
form, with an increasing atrophy of the tail 
and a curious wrinkling of the tissues at the 
back of the head \ in fact, they may be 
said to develop a new breathing apparatus, 
quite different from that of ordinary tadpoles. 

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M. Bohn has obtained similar results with 
eggs of the toad and eggs of the sea-urchin, 
monsters resulting in both cases and con- 
tinuing to live for a number of days or weeks 
after exposure to the radium. Furthermore, 
he has been able to accomplish with radium 
what Professor Loeb did with saline solu- 
tions — that is, to cause the growth of 
unfecundated eggs of the sea-urchin, and to 
advance these through several stages of their 
development In other words, he has used 
radium to create life where there would have 
been no life but for this strange stimulation. 

M. Bohn assured me of his conviction 
that we may in the future be able to produce 
new species of insects, moths, butterflies, 
perhaps birds and fishes, by simply treat- 
ing the eggs with radium rafys, the result 
being that interesting changes will be effected 
in the colouring and adornment. He also 
believes that, with greater quantities of 
radium at our disposal and a fuller under- 
standing of its properties, it may be possible 
to produce new species among larger 
creatures, mice, rabbits, guinea - pigs, etc. 
It is merely a question of degree, for if 
new types can be produced in one species 
why may they not be produced in another ? 

It remains to mention certain important 
services that radium may render in the cure 
of bodily ills, notably of lupus and other 
skin diseases. Here is a great new field full 
of promise, yet one that must be considered 
with guarded affirmation, lest false hopes 
be aroused. It is too soon as yet to say 
more than this, that distinguished doctors 
speak with confidence of excellent results 
that may be looked for from the radium 
treatment Dr. Danlos, for instance, has 
used the radium rays on lupus patients at 
the St. Louis Hospital in Paris for over a 
year, and in several cases has accomplished 
apparent cures. The radium used is en- 
closed between two small discs of copper 
and aluminium, the whole being about the 
size of a silver dollar. The aluminium disc, 
which is very thin, is pressed against the 
affected part and left there for fifteen 
minutes ; that is all there is in the treat- 
ment, except cleansing, bandaging, etc. Day 
after day, for weeks or months, this contact 
with the disc is continued, and after a 
period of irritation the sores heal, leaving 
healthy white scars. Some patients thus 
treated have gone for months without a 

relapse, but it is too soon to declare the cures 
absolute. They look like absolute cures, that 
is all Dr. Danlos will say, and if time proves 
that they are absolute cures, then radium 
will do for lupus patients all that Finsen's 
lamps do, and will do it more quickly, more 
simply, and with no cumbersome and costly 
apparatus. It may be objected that radium 
also is costly, but the answer is that radium 
will probably become cheaper as the supply 
increases and as the processes of extracting 
it are perfected. Fuithermo.e, the effects 
of radium may be obtained, as already stated, 
by the use of indifferent bodies rendered 
radio-active, so that lupus patients may be 
treated with a piece of wood or a piece of 
glass possessed for the moment of the virtues 
of radium. And certain kinds of cancer may 
be similarly treated ; indeed, a London phy- 
sician has already reported a case of cancej 
cured by radium. 

These are possibilities, not certainties, and 
there are others. It appears that radium has 
a bactericidal action in certain cases, and it 
would therefore seem reasonable that air 
rendered radio-active may benefit sufferers 
from lung troubles if breathed into the lungs, 
or that water rendered radio - active, may 
benefit sufferers from stomach troubles if 
taken into the stomach. , It goes without 
saying that in all these cases the use of 
radium must be attended with extreme pre- 
cautions, so that harmful effects may be 

Just as I was leaving Paris I learned of 
an interesting and significant new fact about 
radium, one that greatly impressed M. Curie 
— namely, that the air from deep borings 
in the earth is found to be radio-active, 
and that the waters from mineral springs 
are radio-active. This would seem to indi- 
cate the presence of radium in the earth 
in considerable quantities, and that would 
mean more abundant and cheaper radium in 
the not distant future. One of the things to 
be hoped for now is the discovery of a single 
simple reaction by which radium may be 
easily separated from the dross that contains 
it, and any day the chemists may put their 
hands on such a reaction. 

And then — well, it is best to avoid sweep- 
ing statements, but there is certainly reason 
to believe that we are entering upon a domain 
of new, strange knowledge and drawing near 
to some of Nature's most hallowed secrets. 

Vol xxvii— 1Q 

by Google 

Original from 

Trousers in Sculpture* 

By Ronald Graham, 

HO will deliver us from the 
modern trouser?" once 
publicly asked a Royal 
Academician. It has been 
a question repeatedly pro- 
pounded since the beginning 
of the last century, when this much-mooted 
garment came into fashionable vogue. 

Trousers have at length passed (perma- 
nently into Art. They have been depicted in 
glowing pigments and embodied in enduring 
bronze and marble* They have become 
classical. They have exacted the patience 
of the greatest painters and most talented 
stulptors for a full 
century in por- 
traying them, as 
well as taxed the 
ingenuity of the 
noblest tailors in 

The time has 
arrived, we opine, 
for trousers to be 
considered as 
public and not 
merely as private 
We shall leave 
other hands to 
write the history 
of the two long 
cylindrical bags 
which are at once 
the pride of the 
swell mobsman 
and, as we shall 
show, the dire 
despair of the 
sculptor, who can 
no longer emulate 
the example of 
Phidias, and re- 
present his patrons 
in the super- 
latively light clothing of the annexed illus- 
tration—a corner in a well-known sculptor's 

Assuming that the modern trouser is a 
necessity— and we believe it is regarded as 
such 3 at least primarily — the point arises, how- 
ls the modern trouser to be made picturesque 
in Art? 

/Yum H j PERSFUE. [Photv. 

The tailor's notion of the ideal in trousers 
and that entertained by the sculptor are 
separated by a wide gulf, which very few* of 
the latter fraternity show any disposition to 

It will never be known how many ex- 
ponents of the sartorial art, who have in their 
time fitted masterpieces to the limbs of Lord 
Derby, Lord Palm erst on, Lord Beacons field, 
Sir Robert Peel, and other statesmen, have 
sighed to see their art transmitted at the 
sculptor's haT^ls to posterity mutilated by 
folds, deformed by creases, gifted with 
impossible falls over the b:>ot, and endowed 

w T ith plies at the 
knee which not 
ten years of in- 
cessant wear could 
be supposed to 

"Trousers," re- 
marked Mr, 
Thomas Brock, 
R.A., " cannot be 
niads artistic — at 
any rate in statu- 
ary. The painter 
is better equipped 
to grapple with 
the task than the 
sculptor. He has 
light, colour^ and 
shade at his com- 
mand, and may 
so subordinate 
these elements as 
to render the 
object ion able 
features of our 
modern costume 
less obtrusive. 
At no time have 
we been so little 
attractive from a 
picturesque stand- 
point as to-day. 
It is T therefore, eminently the desire of 
the sculptor to employ modem street 
costume as little as possible. It was for- 
merly the custom in a full length statue to 
drape the figure in a Roman toga or long 
cloak, which lent an heroic effect to the most 
prosaic theme.. . Costume of the last century 
was decidedly picturesque — as you may 




observe in this model of 
the Robert Raikes statue 
erected on the Thames 
Embankment — where 
knee-breeches, stockings, 
and shoe-buckles replace 
trousers/* An example of 
Mr. Brock's treatment of 
the modern trouser may 
be seen in his Colin Camp- 
bell herewith reproduced. 

To illustrate the atti- 
tude taken by the sculp- 
tor generally it may be 
observed that as yet, not- 
withstanding the many 
recent additions of full- 
length statues in the 
northern nave, only a 
single pair of sculptured 
trousers have found their 
way into Westminster 
Abbey. But, as will be 
seen from a perusal of 
the views held by Hamo 
Thorn y croft, R, A. , this 
condition of affairs will 
not be enduring. 

"It is quite impos- 
sible," said Mr. Thorny- 
croft, "to go back tn the old 
style, as did the sculptors of 
less than a century ago, and 
clothe our heroes in antique 
draperies. One must follow 
the costume of the period. 
I have a hope that what 
appears conventional now 
will possess an interest and 
even a picturesqueness to 
our posterity. I have model- 
led Ix>rd Granville in evening 
dress, which displays the 
trousers conspicuously, and 
my recent statue of Steurt 
Bay ley is likewise apparelled 
in modern costume. Never- 
theless, I do not believe 
any sculptor should slavishly 
adhere to the canons of form 
laid down by the tailor. The 
tailor is, of course, merely 
carrying out the whims of 
his fashionable patron, who 
is not always the most intel- 
lectual being extant. Al- 
though I am told that some 
statesmen like Mr. Chamber- 
lain are scrupulous as to thi 




C«OFT t * + A + 

perfect fit of their 
trousers, yet I should no 
more dream, if called 
upon to-morrow to make 
a statue of one of these 
eminent gentlemen, of 
modelling an upright pair 
or creaseless cylinders 
than I should paint in 
the shade of the cloth. 
No, I could never bring 
myself to model a pair of 
trousers such as are daily 
seen in Piccadilly. I 
have an ideal and I pro- 
pose to carry it out. The 
folds, the creases, and 
the plies instil life into 
the work. An artist has 
a duty to perform in en- 
nobling his work— eveh 
though that duty be So 
more than constructing 
trousers of marble. It 
does not lie in perpetu- 
ating the fleeting follies 
of fashion," 

Mr, Thorny croft has 
succeeded very well with 
the trousers of his John 
Bright statue. As trousers, 
and as characteristic trousers, 
we defy the most captious 
hypercritic to urge anything 
against them. They are 
precisely the sort of leg- 
covering the late eminent 
statesman ought to have 
worn, nor do we doubt that, 
had he been actuated by 
that due regard for sartorial 
proprieties wKich the artist 
seeks at the hands, or rather 
at the legs, of eminent per- 
sons, he would have worn 
them. But an intimate 
friend of Mr. Bright 's, who 
has, at our request, minutely 
surveyed the bronze statue 
at Rochdale, readily pro- 
nounces his opinion that the 
trousers are not by any 
means his fellow-townsman's. 
"The material is too thin," 
he writes, "John Bright's 
trousers were of extra heavy 
West of England cloth. 
horny* They bagged a lot at the 
'K^nt^n:'. but fitted rather 





^m W g^M 

/ m ^HU 

^F™" ~ *" "~" ~ ^B^^^^ 


tightly at the calves* The boots are 
certainly not his/' he adds ; and then, as if to 
justify this oracular style of speech^ " I know 
because there was no carpet on the floor of 
the room where Mr. Bright and myself 
habitually met ; so I studied his lower ex- 
tremities while he spoke to me instead." 

In the course of a conversation with the 
French sculptor, M. Jean Carries, that artist 
once defined to the writer the whole position 
of the French school of today. 

" Its aim is life — animation — drama. To 
leave anything dormant is to leave the stone 
as you found it, and to acknowledge the 
futility of your genius. All the characteristics 
of life might be imparted to even a modern 
street costume. 

"Only a tailor or a person deficient in 
culture would criticise the trousers of the 
Gambetta statue. Such a person would say, 
1 But I have never seen them in the Boule- 
vards or in the Palais Bourbon.' Of course 
he has not ; and what then ? Did Raphael 
ever see an angel, or Michael Angelo a faun ? 
No. A pair of widely -cut trousers with a 
single crease or fold might answer very well 
for a tailors dummy ; but it would not do at 
all for a chiselled human figure, which must 
express potential life." 

"Idealism? Sense of the pic- 
turesque ? ' Fiddlesticks ! " declared 
Mr. George Wade, an exceptionally 
talented English sculpt or, pausing in 
his work of modelling a full-length 
statue of a recently-deceased states- 
man. "Unless art in portraiture 
possess a rigid fidelity it is not, in 
my humble judgment, worth the cost 
of the stone or bronze necessary to 
evolve it. Idealism !— that is the cry 
of the sculptor who is deficient — who 
is dependent rather upon the re- 
sources of a departed school than of 
himself Why should a sculptor seek 
to be otherwise than faithful, even to 
the buttons on the waistcoat of his 
subject ? To cite an instance, some 
time ago Sir Charles Tupper, viewing 
my first model for the Mac Donald 
statue, observed : * I see you have 
buttoned only a single button of Sir 
John's coat. I never remember 
seeing my friend's coat not entirely 
buttoned. It was one of his charac- 
teristics. 1 When my visitor left I 
destroyed the old and commenced 
a new model. 

"If it is characteristic of the 
subject in 
hand to wear 
trousers — very 
good. I should 
so model 
them. If, on 
the contrary, 
they were 
worn fault- 
lessly smooth, 
it would con- 
tribute nothing 
to my concep- 
tion of the 
wearer's iden- 
tity to invest 
them w i t h 
bulges and 
creases which, 
if not abso- 
lute 1 v and 
physically inv 
possible, would 
only be so in 
Pongee silk 
and not in the 
heavy fabric 
usually em- 
ployed i n 

J-.JK JOHN R1ACIY3K#,I.13; | .RV| 

From a i'Aoi^ 




trousering, I am not 
aware that public per- 
sonages clothe their 
limbs in Pongee silk. 
Were this the case it 
would be so much the 
better for us. In prac- 
tice I do not believe in 
that picturesque rugged- 
ness about the knees 
which seems so attrac- 
tive to the average sculp- 
tor. 1 am told that Sir 
Edward Burne-Jones 
spent many hours in the 
course of a single day 
in the study and device 
of new complex folds 
and sinuosities in the 
most delicate textile 
stuffs, and that it seems 
not altogether irrational 
to believe is the em- 
ployment of many 
Knglish and French 
sculptors when they set 
about making a pair of 

"If you cannot be 
original," comments Mr. 
Wade, 4i be bizarre. Palm 
off meretricious effect for 
truth. Why not be con- 
tent with the individu- 
ality which reveals itself 
in the limb's attitude as 
well as in its drapery? 
Mr. Smith did not stand 
as the Duke of Con- 
naught does — Paderew- 
ski's posture is not that 
of Lord Roberts. No ; 
you cannot create char- 
acter by kneading your 
clay into all sorts of 
weird concavities and 
convexities. It is not 
true to life," 

We do not deny 
character to perfect gar- 
ments. They may each 
and all breathe a distinct 
individuality, and so far 
the requirements of Art 
are met. Compare those 
already mentioned with 
the rest — compare 
Colin Campbell's or Mr. 
Clarkson's legs with Mr, 

I.1LBMAM] iV G. k, WAUrt. 

( ^ADAMH-Al'TLiK, 

Palmer's of biscuit fame 
— and the contrast tells 
it own tale, Hut to en- 
force our point, in spite 
even of the eloquent 
utterances of Mr. Wade, 
we, who w T ere privileged 
to have seen Sir John 
Mac Donald in the flesh, 
assert positively that we 
never saw that flesh 
draped in such trousers. 
The fact is, certain men 
never wore such trousers. 
With one or two excep- 
tions the trousers pre- 
sented in the course of 
this article — examples 
collated with no little 
care — are artistic 
trousers, trousers of 
Art, und never intended 
to be trousers of Reality, 
because the trousers of 
Reality either express too 
much or too little, or 
express something en- 
tirely in dissonance with 
the sculptor's idea of the 
character he is model- 
ling. Nature, it has been 
observed, does not lend 
itself readily to the 
canons of Art. As it 
was long ago settled that 
carved statesmen must 
wear breeches of ultra 
length, when it appears 
that in life they are fool- 
ishly addicted to gar- 
ments of unseemly bre- 
vity, it is only proper 
that this sad circum- 
stance should be blotted 
out in the studio, and a 
veil, composed of a yard 
or two of extra trouser- 
ing, be drawn over this 
painful deficiency in 
their several characters. 
Had they been stable- 
men they might have 
fared differently, al- 
though we can have little 
to object to in the nether 
garments of Mr. Adams- 
Acton's Hon, David Car- 
mi chael in the accom- 

HArLt *l9U3 inal fSHVing photograph. 




From a Photo, 

On the other hand, there have heen 
sculptors who strive hard for sartorial 
realism. The trousers no more than the 
limbs of all our great men 
are faultless. At a glance 
we may appreciate shades 
ot difference in the inter- 
esting studies by Mr, 
David Weekes of the 
trousers of Lord Rose- 
bery and of Mr. John 
Burns. The former are 
the garments to the life, 
such as have long been 
familiar to the fortunate 
occupiers of the front 
rows at Liberal political 
meetings — redolent of the 
lonely furrow and on inli 
mate terms with the his- 
toric spade — while as for 
the tumid and strenuous 
breeches of the member 
for Battersea, corduroy or 
otherwise, they are chisel- 
led to the last crease of 
realism. But such is the 
perversity of Art that such 
interesting studies would 
in the finished statue be 
exchanged for far less con- 
vincing garments. The 
legs of the Palmers! on 
and Peel statues in Par- 





Fr<m rt Photo, 

liaiiu-nt Square are clothed in what we 
might term a suave trouser— or, more pro- 
perly speaking, pantaloons— of incredible 
length and irreproachable 
girth ; whereas those whose 
eyes have rested upon these 
great statesmen's garments 
in the flesh will recall some- 
thing eminently different. 
For example, if we do not 
too greatly err in our ccflflr 
ception, Lord Palmerston, 
in his later years, was 
somewhat addicted to a 
style of trouser not often 
seen in sculpture. Hap- 
pily, in the studio of Mr. 
Wade, we have been able 
to light upon an example 
of just the sort of trouser 
we mean, and in order 
more to accurately impress 
its proportions upon the 
reader we give an example 
of it. It is not the trouser 
of a statesman, however, 
but of a stableman, a per- 
sonage in a lower station 
in life (page 77). 

A reference might here 
be made to the trousers of 
Mr, Gladstone, executed 
in bronze by the late 

Onslow Ford, R,A. The 
Original From 




artist in this 
piece displayed 
qualities of 
merit, but as 
realists we 
must take 
issue with him 
on the ques- 
tion of the 
length of Mr. 
G ladstone's 
trousers, Al- 
bei t if Mr. 
Gladstone, in 

I il Phoity. 

posing for this really 
admirable work, under- 
took, with an eye to the 
effects the consequence 
would have with poster) ty, 
to assume for the nonce 
an unusual and unprece- 
dented pair of trousers, 
then, of course, Mr. Ford 
merits a complete exonera- 
tion. He, like posterity 
will be, was deceived* But 
we take it upon ourselves, 
while admiring their 
aggressiveness and indi- 
viduality, to assert that 
such trousers would be 
much more befitting Mr, 
" tailor's length," we are given to understand* 
is thirty-six inches, rathtr than the venerable 
Liberal statesman, whose nether adornments 
never exceeded twenty-eight. 

Indeed, we shall not be at a loss if we 
seek for examples of the trouser which is 
manufactured exclusively in the studio of 
the sculptor. Mr, Brock is certainly a great 
sinner in this regard (we have only to turn 
to his statues of the late Mr* Cookson and 

Colin Campbell), and Mr, Adams -Acton 
has shown in his statue of the late Professor 
Powell that he, too, does not always follow the 
fashion of the street. We think we can safely 
lay down the proposition once for all that no 
trousers can possess simultaneously both pro- 
perties — length and bagginess. We have every 
confidence in the tailor as w T ell as the greatest 
admiration for his art, and we do not wish 
to be considered as speaking lightly or at 
random when we say that long deliberation 
and consultation with the highest authorities 
have shown us that these two qualities are 
irreconcilable. We must t therefore, in all 
fairness condemn several pairs of chiselled 
trousers w T hich seem to us 
to violate this law, as even 
the elegant continuations 
with which, thanks to Mr. 
Simonds, the late Hon, 
¥. Toilemache stands for 
ever endowed, the inex- 
pressibles of the late Mr, 
Palmer, and even Mr. Pin- 
ker's genteel specimens 
upon the legs of the late 
Professor Fawcett. 

After all we have said, it 
is to Nottingham that we 

Prom a) simonps* 


Balfour, whose 

must attribute 
the unique dis- 
tinction of pos- 
sessing the 
worst pair of 
sen I j) tu re.: d 
trousers in the 
kingdom. They 
adorn the legs 
of the late 
local worthy, 




Sir Robert Juckes-Clifton ; and, as the reader 
will see from the accompanying photograph, 
embody not inadequately the talented sculp- 
tor's dream. That they embody anything but 
a dream it is out of our power to believe, 
as we are reliably informed that it 
is not in the nature of our most flexible 
English tweeds to assume such grotesque 
folds,, unless there are goods in the Midlands, 
for which the lamented Sir Robert Juckes- 
Clifton expressed a weakness, which surpass 
ordinary material in this respect After all, 
they are not so bad 
as Cambetta's trou- 
sers in the statue 
opposite the Louvre 
in Paris, already 
alluded to and re- 
produced on page 
76, The sculptors 
aim was apparently 
to breech his sub- 
ject pesthetieally, 
and he has spared 
no pains to bring 
about this result 
As a matter of truth, 
M. Alphonse Dau- 
det has borne prin- 
ted witness to the 
fact that Gambetta's 
trousers were in- 
variably too short 
— not too long — 
and revealed some 
inches of white 
sock. But could a 
sculptor be expec- 
ted to take cogni- 
zance of this ? 

All our readers 
probably are fami- 
liar with the magic 
name of Poole — 

tailor by appointment to a score of Royal- 
ties, Poole is to men's attire what Worth 
is to women's. It would be strange if 
the artists of Savile Row did not have a 
good-natured grievance against their fellow- 
artists of the adjacent Hurlington House. 

" I shouldn't be surprised," stated the 
head of the firm, not without diffidence— 
for it is one of the traditional principles of 
Poole since Beau Drummers time to evince 
a becoming reticence toward the public 
aspect of his craft, "if the uninitiated person 
who contemplates our public statues is 
forced to conclude that to wear shocking 
bad trousers is one of the first essentials to 

/■YtwMa] Ti*oi;si£H!i in 

by LjOOgK 

political distinction. Why, many of the 
statues which I have seen in London and 
the provinces are a standing reproach to us. 
I dare say, on the other hand, the sculptor 
who reconstructs our creations is convinced 
that he is improving upon us, but I think 
there can be but one mind between the 
sculptor and ourselves as to how a pair of 
trousers should hang in real life. And if 
real life, why not in sculpture? 

" I may also observe that the classical 
fall of the sculptured trouser over the 

boot is absolutely 
the contrivance of 
the artist, and is 
impossible from the 
tailor's standpoint. 
Again, although 
many gentlemen in 
real life follow the 
fashion so far as to 
wear trousers which 
just touch the up- 
per portion of the 
boot , the trouser of 
sculpture is always 
of superlative 
length, in spite of 
the multifarious 
folds and creases 
which one would 
think, according to 
common physical 
laws, would tend to 
diminish that 

"An artist," writes 
Mr. E.R Ben son } in 
one of his novels, 
" must represent 
men and women 
as he sees them, 
and he doesn't 
see them nowadays either in the Greek 
style or the Dresden style. . . . To look 
at a well-made man going out shooting gives 
one a sense of satisfaction. What I want 
to do is to make statues like them, which will 
give you the same satisfaction. ... I want 
to make trousers beautiful, and women's 
evening dress beautiful, and shirt-sleeves 
beautiful. I don't mean that I shall ever 
make them beautiful in the same way as the 
robes of the goddesses in the Parthenon 
pediments are beautiful, but I shall make 
them admirable somehow/' ^ 

And that is the great problem for the 
sculptors of the twentieth century. 


THE KimilWM." [Phota, 

The Coils of Fate. 

By L. J. Beeston 

F you ever kill a man, my 
friends — ah ! but you may — 
take care to dispossess the 
mind of haunting fancies. 
Murder is a wrong against 
society, certainly. So is 
borrowing a sovereign which you do not 
intend to return. Both may be forgotten." 

Vassilitch spoke across the dinnertable. 
His unconventional philosophy was meant 
for every ear there, though he addressed 
himself to his host— George Etheridge, of 
Hollowfield Court. 

Gabriel le Ru pin sky, the speaker's country- 
woman, who was seated at his right side, 
turned her head to flash into his face one 
look from her calm eyes. 

A silence followed the remark ; not an 
uncomfortable period, but rather one of that 
satisfaction which we feel when a good talker 
ventures out from the ruts of conversation 
and trite opinion. Then Tweed, a round- 
faced, optimistic schoolboy of a man, said, 
cheerfully : — 

** How comforting ! Let us go and 
exterminate our enemies before they get 
wind of so pleasing an assurance and 
exterminate us, Alas, though, we have not 
altogether done with Leviticus yet ; still the 
hangman takes care of our consciences," 

In the first place they had been speaking 
about echoes. Several of the company had 
heard wonderful echoes in different parts of 
the world. George Etheridge had told of an 
echo in Bavaria which had startled him — as 
it startles all to whom it speaks. He said : 
u You row out to the middle of the lake. 
There is an immense rugged cliff on one 
hand, and on the other a dense wood of 
pines. You fire a pistol The sound rolls 
from between precipice and forest, tossed 
from one to the other, gathering in intensity 
and power, until it breaks like a clap of 
thunder overhead. The effect is certainly 

Vol mvH. — |i- 

terrifying. Shall I tell you of what it made 
me think? Of one of those imprudent acts, 
one of those small sins that we commit in an 
unconsidered moment, which is the trifling 
cause of growing and overwhelming effects 
that end in cataclysm." 

The conversation having been given this 
serious turn, first one and then another of 
Etheridge's guests recalled stories of sins that 
had worked in lives as worms through a 
ship's planks. Tweed mocked. He was 
rarely grave, but his easy heart was valued by 
all who knew him. He said, "You will all 
give yourselves a nightmare at bedtime, 
Come, let us have a murder yarn to wind up 

And so Vassilitch, who was no stranger to 
the fatalism of the Slav, and who on that 
account had listened with considerable 
interest to the dialogue, had suddenly roused 
himself to utter his views expressed above. 

" I will repeat my advice," said he. 4i If 
you ever kill a man do nut think about it 
afterwards. Ah ! the fantasies that we 
invent to torment ourselves with I " 

Gabriel le was compelled to look at the 
speaker once more. As the guests of 
Etheridge they had seen much of one another 
during the past three days. She liked to 
have him by her side because he was her 
countryman : also, to her eyes, he appeared 
to be the strongest man in the company, 
And he ? Whenever Mademoiselle Rupinsky 
came in late he was silent to taciturnity ; 
and when she took her place he thawed. 

" You are not — you cannot be — in earnest? JJ 
said Gabrielle, 

" Never more so, mademoiselle," 

" It is your profession that has killed your 
sentiment," explained Etheridge. 

'* As you will," 

Clearly they were all waiting for him to 
continue. He perceived that he was the 
centre of observation, of interest — Ivan 
Fendur Vassilitch ? sometime captain of a 





Cossack regiment that had made a reputa- 
tion for hardihood and valour unique even 
amongst those northern soldiers whose nerves 
have the iron coldness of their ice-plains. 
He raised his glass, emptied it, and went 
on : — 

" I tell you, my friends, that if circum- 
stance compels you to such an act as I have 
spoken of, then any future terrors must be 
entirely the product of a superstitious ima- 
gination. No spirit will haunt you save 
that which you yourself conjure by bending 
the mind continually to that idea. No worm 
of remorse will tear your peace unless you 
believe liars who tell you it exists," 

That was all. None cared to argue the 
point He was so quietly certain of his 
philosophy ; so terribly sure. 

An hour later Vassilitch was addressed by 
Gahrielle, " I should like five minutes 1 talk 
with you/ 1 she said. 

He expressed both readiness and pleasure, 
and he spoke the truth. They passed out 
into the garden, after he had insisted that 
she should cover her shoulders with a wrap, 
for the dews of late autumn were condensing 
and falling imperceptibly on the still trees 
and flowers. 

"Will you sit down ? * 

l( I should prefer to walk slowly." He saw 
her bosom rise and fall in agitation, and he 
wondered what was coming* 

" Monsieur, I have a story to tell you. Of 
all the men I know, you can best appreciate 
it. It may be that you will care to help me 
— ah ! do not be too ready ; my request, if I 
prefer it, is altogether an unusual one, and 
such as only you might understand, and I. 
These Englishmen have cold hearts; passion 

by LiOOgle 

with them is slow to catch fire and easy to 
be extinguished." 

11 You speak of love, mademoiselle ? " said 
Vassilitch, uneasily, 

" No," 

"Then it must be revenge. I am all 
attention J' 

" You have heard of that society that call 
themselves A The Scourge 3 ? Of their political 
opinions I know nothing. Three years ago 
the police broke into a Moscow cellar and 
captured fifteen of this confraternity. Of the 
ultimate fate of those fifteen I also know 
nothing, but the end that came to one has 
been told me. He, at any rate, was a man, 
and a true Russian," 

Gabrielle caught her breath with a gasp, 
paused a moment, then continued : — 

" He was deprived of civil rights, his 
property confiscated, and he himself sent 
into exile. He escaped from a convict 
station in the Trans- Baikal He gained the 
woods, but it was winter, and you know what 
that means." 

4 ' Ah ! " muttered Vassilitch, twisting his 
black moustache and watching the pale face 
of his beautiful companion. 

" I have not seen those dreary forests, but 
I have heard and read of them ; how packs 
of hungry wolves seek food and cannot find 
it ; and how the varnaks — those wretches who 
have committed real crimes— infest the lonely 
pathways at evening to rob and murder. 
They say that the police kill them as dogs," 

" Pardon, mademoiselle ; you must not 
credit these wild tales." 

11 But I do believe them. Listen. This 
poor exile, after he had wandered for days 
in that dead land, was discovered by a band 




of Cossacks riding along a forest path. He 
was seized* Their officer cried out that 
he was a varnak, a bradyaga, and ordered 
that he should be shot You start ; perhaps 
this story has reached your ears ? n 

" No, no," said the other, quickly. " Pray 
go on." 

11 The exile protested that he was an escaped 
political prisoner. He was not believed. 
The officer again repeated his order. A 
soldier was about to obey, but the other 
threw the man from his horse. Instantly a 
dozen carbines were levelled, but the officer, 
convulsed with passion, cried out, i You will 
tie this scoundrel to a tree, eight feet above 
the ground, and leave him to the wolves. 1 
Ah ! why do you recoil from me ? Do you 
not believe this story ? I tell you that it is 
absolutely true in every detail." 

Gabrielle was trembling with emotion. 

" It is quite cold out here ; you will 
catch your death. Let us go indoors," said 
Vassilitch, harshly. 

She continued unheedingly. "The com- 
mand of that monster was obeyed by his men. 
The victim was lashed to the trunk of a pine 
tree, high above the ground. The Cossacks 
rode away, laughing, and left him there until 
the wolves should come to surround the tree, 
to bite it through with their sharp teeth, and 
then — and then " 

A gleam of lightning passed over the sky, 
and the rumble of thunder followed. 

" Do you recollect the talk at the table ? " 
said Gabrielle ; " about echoes ? This act is 
one of those that return to break in thunder 
upon the perpetrator." 

The ex-captain of Cossacks shrugged his 
shoulders. "What is your request?" he 

Gabrielle stopped in the garden path and 
faced him. A faint light from the windows 
of the mansion fell upon her form with its 
perfect lines, its loveliness. She was conscious 
of her beauty then, and she knew that he was 
conscious of it. 

11 Find the man who did this thing." 

He was silent 

" You think me revengeful ? I acknowledge 
it Right or wrong, for three years I have 
prayed for this." 

" Mademoiselle, I must ask you two 
questions : The name of your informant? " 

" I am pledged not to give it. He was a 
trooper in the band who obeyed the orders of 
their officer." 

"That is unfortunate, for I should much 
like to know his name. Let that pass. 
Question number two: What was this 

Digitized by GOOQK" 

prisoner to you that his fate should awake 
these feelings of deep sorrow and revenge ? " 

For an instant Gabrielle hesitated, while 
his eyes appeared to be reading her inmost 
thoughts Then she said, " He was a 


Vassilitch was clearly relieved by the 
answer. He said, "This will, of course, 
necessitate a journey to Russia. Well, I will 
find this man." 

" And you will challenge him ? " 

" I will challenge him." 

" And you will kill him ? " 

" If by that time you still wish it — yes, I 
will kill him." 

They looked into one another's eyes, 
adding no further word. A heavy clap of 
thunder broke and rolled overhead. 

" You had better go in now," said 

He left her at the doors of the French 
windows, while he lighted a cigar and went 
again into the garden. Suddenly he turned. 
He perceived that she was yet standing, 
gazing after him. He could see her in the 
aureole of light, though she could not see 
him in the outer gloom. 

" How beautiful she is ! " muttered Vassi- 

He flung down his cigar, put his foot upon 
it, and ground it into the earth. 


" Expensive ? Rather. You cannot get 
diggings in Regent Street for a song." Tweed 
rose, threw up the window, sat down again, 
and added, "Especially over a jeweller's 
shop. They are so careful. There is nothing 
but a plank, my dear Boris, between us and 
thousands of pounds' wortft of glittering 

" It is very nice here," said Boris Stefano- 
vitch, looking across to the Quadrant with 
wistful, melancholy eyes. 

"'Twill serve. They are not bad for 
bachelors' quarters. My only fear is that 
one day I may get my head into the matri- 
monial noose. Do not laugh ; it is too 
serious. There are many who feel in the 
same way. We are determined not to marry. 
We build a hedge, and dig a trench, and 

raise a tower ; but — but " Tweed 

shrugged his shoulders. " Halloa, it is be- 
ginning to snow," he added, abruptly. " Do 
you feel cold? I will close the window." 

" Pray do not. I had an idea that it 
never snowed in England. This wind is 
most refreshing."- I * 




* r I am glad you think so," said Tweed, 
pushing back his chair as a rush of raw air 
swept into the apartment " No doubt a 
cutting blast like this is a summer breeze to 
you after your—* — " He pulled himself up 
suddenly* That 
was a subject that 
he never cared to 
be the firsi to 

There was the 
rattle of descend- 
ing iron shutters. 
They were clos- 
ing the shop on 
the ground floor. 
The white flakes 
were driving by 
in dizzying con- 
fusion. Almost 
every cab had an 
occupant, A 
hushed roar told 
of the traffic at 
Piccadilly Circus, 

said, quietly, 
"Well, I shall re- 
turn to Russia." 

14 You will do 
nothing of the 
sort," was the 
equally quiet 

"There is a 
difference in our 
cases, You wish 
to live without 
love j and I — to 
nie love is life* 
This silence is 
not to be endured. Why no response to my 
letters? I shall wait one more month, and 
then I shall go to Moscow/ 1 

" You dare not ! Haven't you seen enough 
of Russian prisons ? " 

" More than three years since I set eyes on 
her," muttered the other ; and his face, which 
bore the marks of much suffering, became all 
at once haggard with perplexity, 

** Three years is a long time and a hard 
test," argued Tweed. 

The other caught his meaning, He smiled 
as he said, simply, "My friend, you do not 
know this woman." 

" But 1 know the Trans-Baikal, and the 
frozen horror of your northern swamps. And 
I have seen a gang of exiles, in their long, 
earth-coloured coats, women and men, 

Digitized by G* 

chained together, living statues of despair, 

tramping, tramping, and the soldiers with 

their bayonets fixed " 

tl Don't!" said Stefanovitch. But the 

other went on unheedingly. 

"And I have 
seen your north- 
ern forests in 
winter, shrouded 
in snow, with an 
Arctic wind rat- 
tling down the 
pine needles, 
bending the 
cedars, and the 
fir trees making a 
sound that gives 
you the shivers. 
And I have seen 
the wolves there. 
They appear to 
rise out of the 
ground. Once 
they chased me 
for three leagues. 
We were in a 
tarantass, and 
were nearly 
caught, by Jove ! 
What brutes! 
Every tooth 
looked like a 
dagger. And fre- 
quently a poor 
wretch will escape 
from a convict 
station and try 
to hide himself 
in these forests 



(i W ill you 

Stefanovitch, covering his 

stop ? 

" will endeavour to conceal himself 

in one of these forests; but either he starves 
to death or the wolves get him, or perhaps a 
party of soldiers, say Cossacks, come upon 
him and take him for a varnak. And I 
have known one instance in which the man, 
having resisted authority, was lashed to a tree 
to wait for the wolves. He succeeded in 
releasing himself, it is true ; and ultimately he 
escaped from the country, but " 

"Enough, enough 1" implored Stefano- 
vitch, as if appalled by some memory that 
had seared heart and brain. 

11 but next time he will not meet with 

such fortune." Tweed rose and smashed 
down the wi^. a|from 




" Why do you recall these things to me ? " 
said the other, huskily. 

u Why will you make a fool of yourself?" 
was the heated retort. " I tell you that you 
shall not go back to Moscow if I can prevent 
it There's not a woman on this earth who 
is worth running so great a risk for. If she 
will not answer your letters, you must forget 
her, that is all." 

" You suggest an impossibility." 

" And you suggest a madness. What are 
you gazing at ? Do you recognise anybody ? " 

The other was looking across the roadway 
to where a tall, broad figure, in a massive 
fur-trimmed coat, was leisurely pacing the 
thronged pavement. Tweed repeated his 

" I — I don't know," replied Stefanovitch, 
indecisively. a The face of that tall fellow — 
I thought it was familiar — the light is so bad 
— and a cab came between " 

"What, that fellow in the coat? How 
strange ! I seem to know him, too. Even 
his back is familiar. Let me think. Where 
on earth did I meet — ah ! — no, it's slipped 
me again. Yet I'm sure — almost sure— that 
I — got it, by thunder ! The man's Vassilitch 
— Ivan F6odor Vassilitch, a countryman of 
yours ; not a bad sort, but cold and hard — 
hard as sheet -iron. You have met him, 
perhaps ? " 

" The name is not familiar to me." 

" I met him at Etheridge's place in 
Cumberland. It was four months back." 
Tweed spoke cheerily, feeling glad that the 
subject was changed. "There were some 
nice people down there," he continued. " I 
should like you to know Etheridge. Ah, 
yes — there was also a countrywoman of yours 
staying at the place. She and Vassilitch 
were rather thick, we thought A singularly 
beautiful creature. Her name was Gabrielle 

Rupinsky. She What on earth is the 

matter ? " 

" Gabrielle Rupinsky ! " echoed Stefano- 
vitch, springing so suddenly to his feet that 
his chair went flying. 

"The same. Do " 

"The daughter of old Otto Rupinsky, 
General of Hussars?" The speaker was 
trembling with excitemenf. 

" That is she," said the other, astonished. 

Stefanovitch caught at his collar as if 
emotion were choking him. "Do you know 
what you are saying ? " he cried. " Fool that 
I was not to have mentioned her name ! 
This is the woman who is all — all the beauty 
of the world to me. Gabrielle in England ! 
Now it is clear why my letters were not 

Digitized by CjOOglC 

answered. Heaven bless you for this news. 
Her address — quick ! " 

Tweed, overjoyed and immensely relieved, 
was wringing the other's hands in his delight 
" I'm afraid I can't give it you straight away," 
said he. " You see, she isn t in Cumberland 
now. But I will write at once to Etheridge, 
and you should have it within forty-eight 
hours. Ton my word, old fellow, this is 
great news. Are you going ? " 

" If you do not mind. A thousand thanks. 
I hope it is not a dream ; it seems too good 
to be true," he added, with pathos. " What ! 
I shall see Gabrielle within forty-eight hours ? 
Shall hold her in my arms ? Pardon me ; 
these things may not appeal to you. But if 
you had waited and suffered " 

"I know, I know," said Tweed, sympatheti- 
cally. They had descended the stairway and 
were at the open door. "Look here," he 
added, in parting, " we have supper together 
at my club to-morrow night; that engage- 
ment holds good, of course ? " 

" As you will ; most certainly." 

Stefanovitch pressed his friend's hand and 
was gone. At that moment Tweed perceived 
the tall form of Ivan Vassilitch repassing. 
He murmured, " I should like to renew my 
acquaintance with this man ; he fascinated 
me, rather. I'll go out and meet him." And 
he bounded upstairs for his coat and hat. 


An electric bell hummed through the 

Gabrielle put down her book in surprise. 
She had scarcely expected a visitor at that 
late hour. Yet it was not really late, but in 
this sleepy Hertfordshire village nine o'clock 
was considered an unusual time for anyone 
to be out 

She drew back the blind. A black night 
pressed against the window. The country- 
side, unillumined by moon or stars, was just 
a wall of darkness, as if reclaimed by " chaos 
and old night." 

A servant entered with a card. Gabrielle 
glanced at the slip of pasteboard, and the 
observant maid noticed that a sudden rush 
of colour swept into her mistress's face. 

" I will see him," said Gabrielle. 

There entered Ivan F£odor Vassilitch. 
The lines of his face relaxed at sight of her, 
and a smile almost of sweetness raised his 
black moustache. "Why do you not light 
your English country roads ? " he demanded, 
laughing. " I had only the light of your 
window to guide me for a mile." 

" Pardoi^j^^isp^j-pot my roads," she 




answered, in the same bright spirit of banter, 
" I am not yet naturalized. Where have you 
been ? " 

"To Russia." He spoke the truth, 

"Ah!" Instantly she became serious. 
11 And you returned — — ? n 


"Wilt you sit down, monsieur?" She 

" Why do you laugh like that ? You found 
this monster j what then ? ■ 

" He went to Russia. I went also." 
^ "And you challenged him there?" cried 
Gabrielle, and the womanly softness fled from 
her eyes, 

"I did not." 

" Monsieur ! monsieur ! " 


spoke with a palpable effort. Some emotion 
had robbed her of breath. 

" Shall we go straight to our subject ? " 
asked Vassilitch, perfectly controlled, as he 
always was. 

11 For what else are you here ? " 

" My first thought was that I should see 
you ; my second was that I had a more 
definite errand." 

He bore her sudden coldness so steadily 
that she was compelled to relent. " Well," she 
said, " I am very pleased to see you, monsieur." 

" You are exceedingly kind. On the day 
following the evening on which I received 
your instructions I set about the business, 
and I was not long in finding the man who 
worked you and yours so great a wrong." 

"Not long? Impossible that he was in 

"On the contrary, mademoiselle, he was 
in this country. Do not ask me how I dis- 
covered him. As an ex-officer of Cossacks 
you will understand that my inquiries were 
respected. The task was not difficult ; in 
fact, it was ridiculously easy." 

Digitized by Google 

" Listen, 1 le returned to England ; and I, 
too, followed." 

"What! You permitted him to escape? 
You lost this chance ? M 

"Mademoiselle, there is one thing which 
both of us overlooked — or, rather, of which 
we were in ignorance." 

"That you were afraid ? " said Gabrielle, 
rising to her feet t with a world o( scorn and 
anger in her beautiful face, 

Vassilitch regarded her with steadiness; 
he took the word as he would have taken a 
pistol ball, and again she relented. "For- 
give me," she said " I was hasty ; I 
wronged you," 

"Mademoiselle, the Queen can do no 
wrong." He took the hand she gave him, 
made as if he would have raised it to his 
lips, then released it with infinite gentleness, 
"The one important point that we over- 
looked," he continued, "is that this man — I 
wonder if you can guess ? " 

"No, no, Goon." 

" — —is that this man loves you, made- 

Original from 




11 Loves — me ? " 

"So I discovered. You are his guiding 
star. To you his life points; round you it 
revolves. Parted from you by an infinite 
distance, he is yet bound to you by the 
strongest of laws, and can no more escape 
your sway than the earth the pole-star to 
which it looks, about which it rolls. And 
knowing this, I could not kill him — just yet." 

" Why, what folly is this that you are 
talking?" exclaimed Gabrielle, a trifle awed 
in spite of herself. " You are not serious, 
monsieur? You cannot be." 

Vassilitch did not answer. 

II His name ? Tell me his name," was the 
impatient command. 

" I will tell you, but not now." 

" You are very mysterious," said Gabrielle, 
watching him closely. " You must be aware 
that you are keeping me in suspense." 

Vassilitch rose. " It is merely a fancy of 
mine," said he. " I ask you to believe that I 
have spoken the simple truth. I am still pre- 
pared to carry out your instructions ; but I 
should like you to consider the assurance 
that I have given you. In a short time I 
hope to see you again. Perhaps— anyhow, 
you know that I am your servant ; you have 
but to command me. I will wish you good- 
night, mademoiselle." 

Gabrielle extended her hand. She was 
troubled by the bitterness of his smile. 
Certainly this man was mysterious to-night. 
"Where are you staying?" she asked, 
suddenly, willing to prolong the conversation. 

" At the L Hotel" 

" You will dine with me one night ? This 
place is quiet, but it has its charm." 

" Nothing would delight me more." 


" You are very good, but I have an engage- 
ment. Do you recollect the Englishman — I 
have his card here — George Tweed ? That 
is it He was in Cumberland when " 

II I remember him perfectly." 

" Well, we met this evening in London. 
He extracted from me a promise to take 
supper with him to-morrow night. He wants 
me to meet a great friend of his, and a 
countryman of ours, whose conversation he 
vowed would interest me." 

44 Indeed ? Did he mention the name ? " 

" Yes. It was — it was — no, it has slipped 
my memory. It scarcely matters." 

A servant came at a touch of the bell. 
The visitor descended the stairs and left the 
cottage. Impelled by a sudden impulse 
Gabrielle ran to the window and pulled up 
the blind. He would see her standing there. 

Digitized by CiOOQLC 

What of that ? The crunch of his heavy 
footfall sounded upon the gravel, and his 
voice came clearly — " Good-night ! " She 
replied and felt glad. 

Gabrielle drew down the blind again and 
retreated into the well-lighted room. She 
paused by the table and put to herself, aloud, 
a direct question : " Why did I tell him thai 
— that he was my brother?" And she 
replied, in as direct a fashion : " I imagined 
that he— cared for me a little. If he had 
known the truth should I have been able so 
to command him ? I cannot think so." 

The recollection of the time when she had 
met Ivan Vassilitch brought to her certain 
details of the occasion ; and suddenly she 
remembered that conversation in which 
famous echoes that appear to gather sound 
and reverberate had been likened to actions 
that will not leave a life. She had compared 
that cruel wrong which had destroyed her 
peace with one of these deeds that come 
back to break in thunder. She recalled the 
reminiscence with a sense of uneasiness. 


There were half-a-dozen men in the coffee- 
room at the club. 

44 What I like about this place," said 
Tweed, across the table, to Stefanovitch, 
44 is that they feed you well. The big 
restaurants have spoilt most clubs in that 

respect. If ever " he stopped, and took 

his arms off the table as a uniformed waiter 
approached with a bottle of champagne. The 
man held the dusty neck with a serviette, 
drew the cork, and filled two glasses. Ste- 
fanovitch, lost in thought, did not observe 
the act. When he looked down he flushed 
slightly as he said, "Thank you, I do not 
care to drink before eating." 

The other was visibly annoyed as he 
glanced at the clock. " Our man is behind 
time," said he. "A bad thing in a soldier. 
By the way, I wonder if you do know him ? 
I should say that he is a man of iron — one 
of those fellows whom you couldn't drive 
nails, into, to quote a picturesque expression, 
and the last man on earth of whom I should 
care to make an enemy." 

44 You said that, when you were all together 
in Cumberland," answered the other, speak- 
ing with apparent effort, " this Ivan Vassilitch, 
whom I am to meet to-night, appeared rather 
fond of Gabrielle. Of course " 

Tweed laughed outright. " Don't worry," 
said he. " Mademoiselle Rupinsky was to 
him as to most of us— a beautiful statue. 
Her cold reserve is now fully explained; 



she believes that you are either dead or 
yet an exile. You will make her a happy 
woman to-morrow, Boris, Ah! an idea, 
Vassilitch may be wiser than L He may 
have her address, in which case you will not 
have to wait for this letter from Etheridge, 
And that is a point which will soon be 
settled, for here comes our man." 

The tall figure of Ivan Vassilitch appeared 
at the door of the spacious coffee-room. His 
hat and coat had been taken from him, He 
at once perceived Tweed, and dismissed with 
a nod the servant who had conducted him 

Vassilitch was the first to break the silence. 
He said, unflinchingly, " Monsieur Stefano- 
vitch appears to recognise me. He has a 
good memory for faces. Yes ; we have met 

At the words, or the callous tone in which 
they were spoken, a sudden frenzy of passion 
convulsed Stefanovitch* Uttering a stifled 
cry of " Scoundrel ! " he snatched up his un- 
tasted glass of wine and flung the contents in 
the face of Vassilitch. 

*' Are you mad ? " exclaimed Tweed, 
grasping the outstretched arm. 


thither, Tweed gripped his hand with almost 
boyish fervour. 

"So pleased to see you," said he. "Come 
along, 1 will introduce you to a fellow-coun- 
tryman who Halloa ! you know one 

anoth JT He broke off on the unfinished 


Stefanovitch had risen to his feet He 
faced Vassilitch, Into his eyes a wild ex- 
pression leaped, a look of haunting fear, of 
cowering terror. Tweed, with astonishment, 
observed that piteous gaze, and thought 
instinctively of a half -tamed animal that 
turns upon its master. Stefanovitch recoiled 
a step, one hand grasping a chair-hack, the 
other clutching the table-cloth, and with all 
the strength of his spirit he strove to * beat 
down the straight look of this man who, by 
an hour of horror, had well-nigh broken that 

Digitized by Google 

A waiter who had observed the action 
took a step forward, then hesitated, ready 
for developments. 

The ex-officer of Cossacks wiped the 
liquid from his face and coat. He was very 
pale, He turned to Tweed, 

41 1 compliment you on the manners of 
your friends," said he ; "they are delightful. 
I have the honour to wish you good evening. ,J 
He bowed slightly, twice— the second time 
to Stefanovitch, who had sunk, into a chair; 
then he quitted the room. 

The fatalistic idea that he was being 
carried onward in spite of himself would 
occur insistently ; he felt that he was no 
longer master of circumstance, 

It was hardly to be wondered at, since it 
was largely a matter of nerves. Vassilitch 
Original from 




bad returned to his hotel after the scene at 
the club, and spent half the night writing a 
letter to Gabrielle ; slept badly, breakfasted 
on four cups of black coffee, spent the best 
part of the day in pacing the narrow dimen- 
sions of his sitting-room, and was now — as 
the afternoon waned— as undecided as ever. 

He told himself that the only clear part of 
the business was that he could not do with- 
out her — no, nor would he ; that he was 
guiltless of the crime that had awakened her 
abhorrence and fierce desire for justice. For 
her brother had escaped death, it appeared, 
and had come back. But that brother would 
denounce him, would have to be reckoned 
with. It was certainly awkward. The dif- 
ference in their names did not puzzle him. 
Doubtless the name of Stefanovitch had 
been assumed from political reasons of 

But, then, he told himself, brother and 
sister must have met in England, perhaps 
weeks, even months past. In that case 
Gabrielle must have learned the truth, and 
so might very well be playing with him. This 
thought was terrible. Yet when he called to 
mind the obvious surprise and discomfi- 
ture of Stefanovitch he felt relieved. Then 
another suspicion arose : what if that meeting 
had been a prearranged thing? It was a 
little unusual that the Englishman, George 
Tweed, should accost him — a mere acquaint- 
ance — in Regent Street, and invite him to 
supper. Yes, it really did appear as if he 
were the dupe of Gabrielle and Stefanovitch, 
that they were indeed amusing themselves at 
his expense. If not, how strange that she 
should have said to him, of all men on 
earth, "Kill the man who killed my brother." 

This frightful suspicion was not to be 
endured. He combated it, since it was for 
his life. He strove to remember one soft 
look that she might have given him. He had 
imagined at times that she trusted a little in 

A firm resolve to act came at last to him. 
He tore into small pieces the letter that he 
had written. He would see Gabrielle — would 
end this torment 

He examined a time-table and started to 
leave the hotel. Half-way down the stairs he 
paused, returned quickly, and slipped into 
his pocket a Derringer pistol, which he took, 
without exactly knowing why, from a drawer. 
A minute later he was bowling towards King's 
Cross Station. 

On the platform he saw Stefanovitch, and 
guessed rightly that the latter was bound for 
the same destination as himself. If Vassi- 

Vol. xxviL-12 )\ ' 

litch had been sure of this he would have 
abandoned his intention; as it was he resolved 
to go on without losing sight of the other. 

The train sped from the Metropolis, rush- 
ing with piercing cries through the winter- 
laden country. The short day was passing 
from fields and sky ; already the tops of the 
leafless trees mingled with the grey of 

When Ivan Vassilitch alighted at his 
station he perceived that Stefanovitch was 
before him, that he was just quitting the 
platform, moving with sharp strides, as if he 
were in a hurry. Vassilitch had half a mind 
to turn back, but, not caring to wait for 
perhaps a long time till an up- train came in, 
he almost mechanically followed the other at 
a safe distance. 

Stefanovitch stopped once or twice, and 
appeared to make inquiries as to his way. 
This mystified Vassilitch. Was it possible, 
he asked himself, that Gabrielle had not met 
her brother ; that the latter had but just set 
foot in England ? The consideration was 

Stefanovitch walked on with great strides, 
not looking behind, or scarcely to right and 
left. Gabrielle'o cottage was isolated from 
other habitations. It was built on an 
eminence that was sheltered on three sides 
by poplar trees, while the gravelled drive that 
led to the front of the house was bordered 
by elms, whose branches met overhead and 
formed an avenue. 

Stefanovitch was approaching the head of 
this avenue when he perceived, coming 
toward him, the figure of a woman. His 
heart almost stopped beating, then continued 
with great thumps of excitement. The 
waning, pallid twilight obscured the form, 
but something in the poise of that figure, in 
the walk, brought back to him a flood of dear 
remembrance. With fingers that shook he 
lifted the latch of the gate and continued 
down the avenue, that was covered with dead 
leaves of autumn. And then he saw that it 
was indeed she. 

He cried out in stifled tones : — 

"Gabrielle! Gabrielle!" 

She stopped ; the quick panting of her 
breath reached his ears. 

11 It is I — Boris ! I have come back to 
\ou, Gabrielle — come back, after all these 
years ! My heart ! Why do you look at me 
like that ? No word of welcome, Gabrielle ? 
Ah ! you thought that I was dead ? My 
selfishness has made me too abrupt." 
Stefanovitch had caught the white hands 
and was drawing her towards him. 




w Yes, I — I — thought that you were— 
dead," answered Gabrielle. The sound of 
his voice, its infinite tenderness,, the joy that 
glowed in his eyes, moved her so that she 
broke out into sobs — sobs that startled him, 

" My love ! my dear love ! I have 
frightened you. Oh, you must not cry like 
that, Look at me, Gabrielle ! How I 
have lived for you ! Not one hour in 
which I have not 
thought of you. 
And this, (Jed's 
mercy, is greater 
than His trial." 
Stefanovitch raised 
the drooping head 
and covered her 
face with his pas- 
sionate kisses. 
"My love! My 
love ! )J he said. 

And Guhrielle 
at that moment 
seemed to wake 
from a dream, 
Here was the heart 
that she could rest 
upon. What other 
thoughts were 
those which she 
had permitted to 
linger for awhile ? 
They were fading 
already, were pass- 
ing with her tears. 

She put her 
arms about his 
neck ; and so they 
were silent for a 
time, standing 
motionless be- 
neath the trees. 
Stefanovitch said 
at last :— 

il Who told you that I was dead, little one? 
Who caused you such pain ? " 

**It is so terrible a story, I heard that 
you escaped " 

"And so I did/' 

"That in the forest you were caught by a 
regiment of Cossacks, and that " 

Stefanovitch interrupted her. "What!" 


he cried out, " you heard of that ? Yes, it 
was true ; but, Gabrielle, at a moment like 
this, when my cup is overflowing I can for- 
give even Ivan Yassiliich— — " 

Gabrielle sprang from him as if he had 
struck her. In an instant she saw the whole 
truth. The cry she would have uttered died 
on her parted lips. She remained mute, 
bewildered, paralyzed with astonishment. 

"Ah, you know 
the man," said Ste- 
fanovitch. "I had 
forgotten that. 
Well f let him pass, 
Gabrielle, Come, 
you are shivering. 
It is so cold out 
here. May I come 
indoors for an 
hour ? B 

The ex -captain 

of Cossacks closed 
the gate as he left 
the avenue. He 
had heard every 
word, And he 
had let them go. 
Why, he might 
have pi stoMed 
Stefanovitch as he 
stood there ! 

He remained in 
the snow -covered 
road, staring at the 
darkened fields, 
pallid with grief 
and rage. 

Suddenly he 
snatched the 
Derringer from his 
pocket The barrel 
into which he 
looked was but a 
tiny orifice, yet wide and deep as the pit of 
death. He lifted his arm, A pressure of the 

finger, that was all that was needed 

"Bah! for a woman? She is not worth 
it I " 

Vasstlitch fired into the air. The report 
echoed and re echoed— a note of thunder in 
the quiet night ! 

by Google 

Original froni 

Eccentricities of Equilibrium, 

By Louts Nikola. With Illustrations by the Author, 

S a preliminary to the practical 
reproduction of the experiments 
herein described, it is necessary 
to invade the kitchen and to carry 
off the following articles, via- : four 
forks, a plate, a teacup, a bottle, some corks, 
the cook's basting-ladle and strainer, and a 
few other odd things which will be found 


from time to 
time in con- 
nection with 
the experi- 
ments in 
which they 
become ne- 


The first experiment is a very simple one- 
Partly fill the bottle with water ; then take 
one of the corks, make a slit in one end in 
the direction of its length, into which insert 
a coin. Next stick two forks into the cork, on 
opposite sides and near the other end, at 
angles of about 3odeg. With the forks so 
placed, as balance-weights, it is an easy matter 
to balance the coin upon one edge of the mouth 
of the bottle, as in Fig. i, With a steady 
hand it is also possible to execute the effec- 
tive termination shown in the lower portion 
of the same illustration — *>., to slope the 
bottle gradually so as to pour out a glass of 
the contents, retaining the while the coin 
in equilibrium upon the neck of the bottle. 

By a slight variation of the previous arrange- 
ments the coin may be 
balanced edgeways upon a 
needle-point and made to 
rapidly revolve thereupon. 
Fig. 2 shows the experiment 
in operation. 


To ba lance a pin upon a 
needle would seem rather a 
formidable undertaking; but by 
an application of the same prin- 
ciple no considerable difficulty 
is encountered. Stick the pin 
into another cork in position cor- 

that of the coin 
in the first ex- 
periment, into 
which also fix 
two forks as in 
the previous 
examples. With 
a little care it 
is then quite 
practicable to 
rest the head of 
the pin upon 
the point of the 
needle, where 
it will remain 
balanced as,-ki 
Fi g- 3 


9 2 


4. — A PIN OK 

By another variation of the conditions it 
is possible to balance the pin upon the 
needle-point in a horizontal position and to 
make it revolve thereon in that situation. 
The only alteration necessary to the pre- 
parations already made is to substitute for 
the two forks two ordinary pocket-knives. 
By bending the handles of the knives at 
an angle to the blade, the pin may be 
sustained in a horizontal position* Or, by 
the substitution of a long needle for the 
pin, the forks may be retained as balance- 
weights, as in the previous example and as 
shown in the present illustration. The pin 
may be rested upon the needle-point as in 
the figure, and by a gentle touch of the 
finger may be set revolving. In time, by 
reason of the relative differences in hat dn .ss 
of the two metals, Lhe commencement of 
a tiny hole will be drilled by the sharp steel 
point erf the needle in the softer brass of the 
pin, and if the motion be continued for a 
sufficient length of time a hole will ultimately 
be an accomplished fact. 


A further application of similar principles, 
and a plate may be balanced and spun upon 
the needle-point The corked bottle with the 
needle in posi- 
tion remains as 
before. Two 
other corks are 
taken and split 
into two by a ver- 
tical cut, Into one 
end of each half- 
cork, upon the flat 
side, are stuck the 
prongs of a fork, 
and thus the four 
forks are hung at 
equal distances 
around the edge 
of the plate. 
Then, with a little L(l ic f U u 
held in perfect equilibrium, as in Fig. 5. 

Next cut a slight concavity in one end 
of one of the corks, so as to adapt it as 
exactly as possible to one end of an egg. 
Then insert two forks, as before, into 
the sides of the cork, letting the hoi lowed - 
out end be the lower. Then rest the cork 
with the forks as counterweights upon the 
end of the egg to which the concavity has 

been adapted. So aided, the egg may be 
balanced upon the mouth of the bottle, as in 
Fig. 6. 

care, the plate " ; U be 


In this case 
cork with two 

balance-weights attached, in the shape 
of forks as previously employed, is pro- 
vided in addition with a pair of legs, 
formed by the insertion of a couple of 
stout pins or small round-headed nails 
into the bottom of the cork, as in Fig, 7. 
The figure is placed upon an inclined 
narrow slip of wood at the highest point 
of the incline and set gently oscillating, 
so that the weight is thrown alternately 
on one side and then on the other, 
which will c;uise the figure to make the 




As shown in the illustra- 
tion, this experiment is per- 
formed with a lead pencil 
and a razor. The razor is 
partly opened and the end 
of the blade 
fixed into the 
wood of the pen- 
cil about an inch 
or two above the 

point, in 


position and at 
about the angles 
shown in the 
illustration, Fig, 
8, when the pen- 
eil may be 
readily balanced 
upon its point 
on the extremity 
of a stout needle 
thrust horizon- 
tally into the bottle cork, as shown. 


A development of the 

last experiment may be 

made with a basting-ladle 

and a razor or folding 

pocket - knife. Open the 

knife to an angle of a little 

over 45deg., and engage the 

hook of the ladle with the 

outside angle at the junc- 
tion of handle and blade, 

as in Fig. 9, which permits 

of the whole being placed 

in self-supporting position 

upon the edge of the table, 

as shown. The junction 

of knife and ladle may 

be made firm, if neces- 
sary, by a slice of cork 

wedged in beneath the hook of the ladle 

Fig. 10 looks a little startling ! There 
is, however, no risk if the experiment is 
properly conducted. The requirements are : 
a kitchen table, a pail of water, a stout, flat 
stick three or four feet long on which to hang 
the pail, and another and slighter piece of 
stick. The larger stick h first laid upon the 
table with about one-third of its length pro- 
jecting over the edge- The pail — empty 
is next hung upon the projecting end of the 

stick. The smaller stick is then placed with 
one end against the inside angle of the . 
bottom of the [)ail at the point nearest the 
table, and the other end cut away at such a 
length as will permit it to wedge tightly 
against the under side of the main stick, 
at which point a notch may be cut in the 
latter to prevent slipping. The whole bears 
a structural resemblance to the balanced 
ladle of Fig. 9, The pail may then be partly 
filled with water, when it should remain 
- balanced as in Fig. 10. 


This is an elaboration of 
the experiment described 
in paragraph 4* A pencil 
is first thrust through the 
centre of a cork and two 
forks into the sides of the 
cork. This will permit of 
the pencil being balanced 
horizontally, as in Fig. 11. 
A v rond pencil is balanced by the in- 
ertiun of two pen-holders in positions 
nl. lively similar to those which the 
forks bear to the balanced object in 
Kxpi-riments i, 2, and 3, and so ar- 
rjn-ed it may be balanced upon the 
unsupported end of the 
first pencil. The whole 
structure may be made to 
revolve upon the needle. 





12.— THE 

Making use 
again of the 
a cork is first 
into the hook of 
handle, and into 
is thrust the poii 
a knife or the pr 
of a fork s the 
being at an angU 
about 45tleg, or 
the former. A 
is filled with 
and by placing 
fork or kni 
handle u pon the 
edge of the glass the ladle will balance as 
in Fig, 12, 


By still another applica- 
tion of the hasting-ladle, 
or a walking-stick or um- 
brella, a bottle may be 
balanced upon a slack 
cord. All that is neces- 
sary is to insert the hook 
of the ladle - handle or 
the handle of the stick 
into the neck of the 
bottle and support upon 
the cord, as shown. . ■ 



Bend up a piece of stiff wire, such as a 

hairpin, into the shape shown in the lower 

right-hand comer 
of Fig, 14, with a 
hook at one end 
and a clip at the 
other , the latter 
adjusted to grip 
a coin tightly. 
By hanging a 
fairly heavy 
finger-ring upon 
the hook as a 
counter - weight, 
the whole may 
be balanced with 
the penny upon 
the point of a 
needle, and made 
to revolve on it. 

A similar experiment may be performed 
on a larger scale by bending up a longer and 
proportionately stouter piece of wire, and 
substituting for the coin a small plate and for 
the ring a bunch of keys — Fig* 15 — or a 
larger plate and a tea-cup. 
In the latter case the 
weight of the tea-cup may 
be built up to counter- 
balance the plate by drop- 
ping a number of coins 
one by one into the cup 
until the required weight 
is obtained, 



This experiment is not 
a case of pure balancing, 
but depends principally 
upon the nice adjustment 
of the two pieces of stick 
by means of which the 
position of the two glasses is maintained. A 
couple of slender pen-holders may be used, 
and must be trimmed down at the ends 
until the right length is obtained. The posi- 
tion of the sticks and the manner in which 
the glasses are supported can best be gathered 
by a study of the illustration below. 



17. — BALANC- 
Simple me- 
thods of balanc- 
ing a milk-jug 
and tea - cup 
respectively are 
shown in Figs, 
17, A and B. 
In the first 
illustration the 
cork is placed 
inside the 
handle of the 
vessel, in which 
position it 
should fit with 
moderate firm- 
ness, so as not 
to slip, and 
then two knives are 
thrust in, one from each 
side of the handle, 
between the cork and 
the cup itself, when the 
cup may be balanced 
upon any fixed point. 
In the second a cork is 
fixed into the handle, as 
before, and into the cork 
the prongs of a fork are 
fastened, holding the 
fork in such a position 
as to bring the centre 
of gravity below the 
point of suspension. 
be balanced as before 

rhe cup may then 


This is a rather more elaborate experiment 

and one of the most effective ol the whole 

series. The requirements are : a plate, the 

basting-ladle used in previous experiments, 

and, in addition, a "skimmer," The handle 
of the ladle is hooked over the edge of the 
plate and made secure by a wedge cut from 
a bottle cork. The opposite edge of the plate 
is then rested upon the edge of a bottle in 
the position shown in Fig. iS, and the handle 
of the skimmer is finally hooked into the 
bowl of the ladle y making the structure shown. 


Here is a little after- 
dinner experiment requir- 
ing some delicacy of 
The end in view 
is 10 balance three 
tumblers one 
upon thfc edge of 
the other as in 
Fig. 19. With 
two tumblers the 
experiment is 
easy ; with the 
third it becomes 
a genuine test of 


A delicate test of balancing may be 
attempted with the shovel and tongs. 
'1 he position of the two implements 
is shown in the illustration — Fig. 20, 
The extremity of one arm of the tongs is rested 
against the inside of the shovel, and the other 
extremity is placed in the angle formed by the 
junction of the shovel with the handle. By 
delicate poising the two may be induced to 
remain in equilibrium in the position illustrated. 
A formation which permits of the tongs being 
engaged with the shovel after the manner 
^ shown is an important factor. 


9 6 


An effective combi- 
nation is shown in Fig. 
2i, A carafe, partly 
filled with water to 
give stability, forms 
the basis of the struc- 
ture. Upon this a trio 
of wine-glasses, lying 
horizon tally , are ar- 
ranged, and so held 
while the bottle, half 
filled with water, is 

placed in position 
above them. A little 
careful adjustment will 
secure an accurate re- 
production of the ex- 
periment as illustrated. 

A similar structure, 
formed with seven 
glasses and a carafe, is 
shown in Fig. 22, which 
is self-explanatory, 
A simple experiment for impromptu per- 
formance at the table can be made with a 
couple of pins and a coin. The accom- 
plishment consists of picking up the coin by 
two opposite edges between the points of the 

two pins, as in Fig. 23, in which position it 
may, with steady hands, safe!) be held. By 
blowing smartly upon one edge of the coin 
it may be made to rapidly revolve between 
two points. The feat has the appearance of 
an exhibition of considerable skill, but, as a 
trial will show, it is in no way difficult of 

execution. The selection of a milled-edged 
coin will facilitate the matter, 


With three forks, a serviette ring, and a 

plate, one may improvise a stand for a soup 

tureen or water carafe. The forks are merely 

passed through the ring and spread into 

the form of a tripod, the handles resting upon 
the table* A plate placed upon the prongs 
of the fork locks the whole and provides the 
necessary rest for the article to be supported 
The fruit dish in the illustration happens to 
be of just the right size to rest in the support 
formed by the extremities of the forks, the 
plate being in this case unnecessary. 


In our last example we have a succession of 
keys built up by interlocking the wards and 
bows one within the other, upon the summit 
of which may, by special care, be balanced 
a bottle or similar objecL Where the 
bottle is added to the pile, it takes the 
place of the uppermost key shown in our 
illustration^ and rests upon one taking a 

more gentle incline, 
as in the case of 
the one immedi- 
ately below. 
This rather ambi- 
tious structure forms 
a fitting climax to 
our series, and 
may be left to the 
ingenuity of the 
reader, whose accu- 
mulated ex- 
should by 
this time be 
good equip- 
ment for the 
of the diffi- 
culties to 




Miss Cairns Cough-Drops. 

By Winifred Graham. 


ITTLE Hal Court knew 
nothing of towns ; he had 
been brought up in the soli- 
tude and beauty of Northern 
Ireland. The country had 
given to this small boy some- 
thing of its own peculiar charm, a wildness 

wedded mysteriously to peace- He could be 

so still and thoughtful, or so full of life and 

movement he might have borrowed his 

child's personality from the waves of the 

great blue sea. 
Nature made a bold nurse — a teacher who 

whispered to Hal of things intense, of stories 

wonderful, bringing him the funds of her 

vast wisdom, the fairy tales of a country- 
side teeming with 


"I live with my grand- 
mother/' he told his new 

governess, (< because I 

have a different kind of 

mamma to other boys, 

She isn't the ordinary sort 

that stays at home ; she 

—she's a celebrity ! " He 

paused before alighting 

upon the correct word, 

bringing it out with so 

grave an air that Miss 

Ains worth could hardly 

repress a smile. 

"Yes," he continued, 

hugging his' knee and 

gating through the win- 

(low at the turbid waves 

of the Ixjugh, a lovely 

inland sea, sending its 

green waters brimming 

to the verge of Castle 

Stewart's old garden, 

tl She sings, you know ! 

She sings — well, just like 

an angel, people say: but 

the angels don't have to 

travel about and leave 

their little boys at home. 

Mother makes heaps of 

money when she sings a song. They send 
for her right across the world, and she travels 
like a Princess ; the people crowd to see her 
get into the train. It's always that way if you 
can sing. Don't you wish you had a voice 
like an angel, Miss Ains worth ? " 

" Yes, indeed" 

A sudden, almost painful, longing rang in 
the reply, as the dazzling picture of a world- 
famed artiste was conjured up by the simple 
description of a child. 

" I expect," added Miss Ainsworth, "you 
miss your mother ? " 

"Why, of course. I wear this picture of 
her round my neck, and I love her so much 
I don't mind when other boys call it girlish ; 
one doesn't mind being girlish for her I " 

Vol, ixvii.— 13, 



Vii yirrai \ 

\\.l.\i JmV: 


9 8 


A throb as of martyrdom crept into the 
child's voice— an almost passionate hunger 
for the mother-love denied him. 

" She said," he continued, " she would be 
back for the New Yean She can't get here 
in time for Christmas, because the boat from 
Australia won't bring her fast enough, but 
she promised to come for certain on New 
Year's Eve, I am to write to her in London. 
I always begin my letters now, ( Don't forget 
about the New Year/ because she has so 
much to remember. Then she answers back, 
1 Dear little boy, I'm safe for the New Year/ 
or something of that kind. The winter seems 
very long here, and one rather wants a 
mother. In 
the summer I 
don't mind 
her being away 
so much." 

His wist fill 
eyes saw in 
fancy the smil- 
ing summer- 
time, which 
spud on lightn- 
ing wings. For 
him thj warm 
days spelt 
gladness, giv- 
ing beautiful 
little bays for 
and creeks 
with wooded 
shores^ while 
winter pre- 
sented un- 
lighted rocks 
and shoals 
lashed by one 
of the strong- 
est tides in 
the kingdom. 

He had grown to love and reverence the 
castles of old Kings which faced each other 
across the tide, and to know intimately those 
wonderful islands which dotted the sea, But 
to Miss Ains worth, freshly arrived from a 
busy city, Castle Stewart in mid-winter held 
something of terror with its watery wastes, 
guarding the little village of Slaneyford, 

She liked hearing her small charge talk of 
his mother : it brought a human note into all 
the dreariness and desolation of this storm- 
swept country. Since her arrival she had 
been forced to associate S Ian ey ford with a 
driving whirlwind of ceaseless rain. 

" We sha'n't mind the weather when 

Digitized by Lt* 

11 A bUHrkisK i'Hk Tiit: pair lalV of song,' 

mother comes," said Hal, cheerfully. M Every- 
thing is different then ; she's so jolly, you 
know. She will bring me lots of toys in her 
box, but I don't want them when I've got her 
to play with, and her cheek is so much softer 
to kiss than grand mamma's." 

Miss Ains worth noticed that the thought 
of his mother's coming predominated Hal's 
mind, Everything reminded him of some past 
action or saying of hers what she liked or 
disliked When he became silent and dreamy, 
his watchful companion knew well that the 
child-soul wandered to a mothers knee, 
through the bright mazes of imagination. 
In restless, moments his energies ever 

centred in ar- 
ranging some 
surprise for the 
fair lady of 
song — shells 
he had collec- 
ted for her in 
the su m m e r 
were to be hid- 
den under her 
pillow, and 
long dried rib- 
bons of white 
seaweed found 
their way to 
the guest- 
chamber pre- 
pared for Mrs. 

Miss Ains- 

worth herself 

caught his 

feverish excite- 

m e n t — the 

coming of the 

famous singer 

held the charm 

of novelty. 

As yet she 

had met none of the celebrated people of 

the world, but founded her social creed upon 

the daily lives of the middle classes. 

Even little Hal, with the strain of his 
mother's genius running in his blood, came 
as a revelation of something peculiar and 

" I sha'n't notice Christmas at all," he told 
Miss Ains worth, as the festive season drew 
near ; " I shall just wait for mother and the 
New Year and open all my presents then. 
She will like to be the first to see them." 
So the Vuletide drifted by uneventfully, save 
for a thrill of expectation heralding the 
arrival of ^-bd.o.yedj.-|traveller — that childlike 




counting of days and hours in which the 
oldest may share, when the heart pines and 
the spirit yearns for the touch of an absent 

The days were drawing near to New Year's 
Eve when Mrs. Court wrote announcing her 
safe arrival in London- Hal's grandmother 
read the letter aloud, and Miss Ainsworth 
watched the rapt expression on his face 
with a strange intuition of coming sorrow, a 
fear lest disappointment, black-winged and 
ugly, should mar the seraphic beauty of the 
child's features. The little mouth, slightly 
inclined by Nature to droop, smiled softly as 
the older woman read, and a flush crept over 
the boy's cheek, while his whole attitude 
denoted breathless excitement. So keen was 
the tension that, as the letter closed, Miss 
Ainsworth felt she could hardly bear the 
concluding words : — 

" It is just possible, tell Hal, that, after all, 
I may no': get to Slaneyford for the New 
Year, Your account of the weather is not 
encouraging, and, dearly as I long to be with 
you, I am bound to be cautious and not run 
any risks. I have a slight cold in my throat, 
and the thought of the floods round Castle 
Stewart holds terrors, with their suggestion of 
dampness. My doctor advises me to give up 
all thought of visiting Ireland while these 
stormy days of deluge last. Ask my sweet 
boy to write to me." 

Grandmamma laid the letter down with quite 
a matter-of-fact air, remarking, " Cristina was 
very wise ! " 

Miss Ainsworth took a sidelong glance 
at Hal. He had not moved, but his lip 
trembled and he stared very hard at the floor. 

"I shall be writing to-day," said grand- 
mamma, " so you had better put in a line, 
Hal, and she will get it in London to-morrow 

Hal nodded. His voice sounded odd and 
strangled as he replied : — 

"Please, I would rather send my letter 
quite alone in an envelope by itself." 

"Very well." 

The boy walked slowly to the door. The 
pathetic droop of his shoulders spoke more 
eloquently than words, telling of a spirit 
crushed by hope deferred, of a little heart 
breaking under a childish tunic of blue 

"The day after to-morrow will be New 
Year's Eve," he thought ; " and she— she is 
afraid of the weather, because of her 
voice ! " 

Perhaps he had always been unconsciously 
jealous of that wonderful gift which took her 

Digitized by VjOOgJC 

away from him, though to the child's pure 
nature all hurtful emotions came as aliens, 
tarrying but for a moment on forbidden 

He crept to the far corner of the school- 
room, and, hiding the tiresome tears that 
made writing difficult, scribbled hastily in his 
new drawing-book. 

" Sne shall have the first sheet as a letter," 

"he said, tearing it out, and re-reading the 

words, clearly written in a bold, childish 

hand. "Perhaps she will come after all, 

when she gets this." 

Miss Ainsworth saw with relief Hal looked 
happier as the post-boy trudged with a bag 
of correspondence down the soaking drive. 

The following morning there was a certain 
watchfulness about Hal. He could settle down 
to nothing, and appeared to be constantly 
listening ; every bell sent him running to the 
hall door. 

At last his energy met with reward, for 
he was the first to bring in a telegram 
addressed to his grandmother. He waited 
by her knee with glistening eyes, his pulses 
throbbing painfully as she read the flimsy 
paper: "Shall be with you to-morrow; 
crossing to-night. — Cristina." 

It seemed to the boy that his heart 
stopped beating and would never go on again 
as he heard the wonderful intelligence. He 
struggled for breath as he gasped out the 
good news to Miss Ainsworth, who had 
just appeared to take him for a walk. 

" She will be here for New Year's Eve ! 
She rests in Dublin, you know, and gets 
to us late in the afternoon," he cried, his 
face like a sunbeam. " She changed her 
mind when she got our letters; I expect 
she saw we wanted her very, very badly." 

The hours flew quickly with so much 
gladness in store, and Hal was quite ready 
to go to bed early, that to-morrow might 
come the sooner — to-morrow, the day of 
days, long waited for, through weary months 
of watching. Miss Ainsworth came to the 
boy's bedside fearing he would never sleep — 
with his brain in such a whirl of feverish 

She found him open-eyed and flushed. 
Immediately he began speaking of his 

"To-morrow night she will come in, 
shading the candle with her hand," he said. 
" She will wear a lovely dress she calls a tea- 
gown, all soft and lacey, and she doesn't 
mind how much I crumple it." He smiled 
at the thought and hugged his pillows. 

" I wonder why she suddenly changed her 




mind ?" murmured Miss Ains worth. Hal sat "Oh!" cried Miss Ainsworth, shaking 

bolt upright, his eyes very alert. him off angrily, " I had no idea you were 

"It was all through my letter/' he answered, such a wicked little boy. I thought you 

triumphantly. really loved your mother, and now I see you 

"What did you say?" Miss Ainsworth don't at all ; you are thoroughly selfish and 


felt very curious as she [Ait the question ; she 
had never before dealt with a child of un- 
common character, 

"I begged her to come/' he replied, his 
tone vibrating with the energy of a youthful 
passion. "I said I would like her to lose 
her voice on the way and never find it again ; 
then she would stay with me always, like 
other mothers, who live at home with their 
children. I put: 'Never mind about the 
old voice, dearest ; it's always a bother, taking 
you away,' and lots of things like that, just 
to show her how much I cared. Oh I and I 
dropped some tears on the letter, so it all 
went crinkly," 

An expression of in tense longing lit his face 
as he paused, clutching Miss Ainsworth's 
sleeve. " Do you think she will lose her 
voice on the journey ? " he gasped, hopefully. 
" It would be lovely if she did I " 

Miss Ainsworth listened horrified ; righteous 
indignation surged within her well-meaning 
breast as she pictured the mother, torn by 
natural affection, driven to risk her glorious 
gift of song for the whim of an exacting 

:• ; .*■ .♦, : : ,ooo \C 

horrid. Your letter must have hurt her very 
deeply. Of course, she values her voice 
above everything. God gave it to her as a 
wonderful inheritance, a divine talent, and 
you — you hope she will lose it, never to find 
it again ! I don't want to talk to you any 
more, but if ill befalls your mother it will be 
a judgment on you ! Naturally she ought not 
to travel against the advice of her doctor, but 
she is sacrificing her health for the sake 
of granting an unkind and inconsiderate 
request ! " 

With these scathing words of rebuke Miss 
Ainsworth snatched up the candle and strode 
from the room, shutting the door firmly 
behind her without saying "good-night/' 

Hal remained very still All in a moment 
the room had become peopled with dark 
fancies and ugly forms. Dread stole like a 
human presence to the disconsolate little 
soul. Hal shivered and, shrinking down, 
hid his head in the sheets. The lecture, 
with its awful truths, returned like a heavy 
blow, causing physical pain to the sensitive 
temperament of the highly-strung boy, He 
had meant no harm by the ignorant words, 




whose child-like pathos touched the deepest 
chord in the heart of the famous singer. 
Not for the world would she have had one 
syllable of Hal's letter altered by the tutor- 
ing hand of a shocked Miss Ainsworth, 
while tears and smiles together answered 
the appeal of that quaint, unstudied ex- 
pression of the boy's mind. 

But Hal knew nothing of this as the 
darkness gathered round him. He heard 
only the condemning phrases : " You are 
thoroughly selfish and horrid ! I thought 
you really loved your mother ! If ill befalls 
her it will be a judgment upon you ! " 
He set his lips and pressed his knuckles 
firmly to his eyes. What was this dreadful 
thing he had done — all unconsciously — to 
the mother for whom he would willingly have 
given his life ? She was on the sea now, 
against her doctor's advice, and the wind was 
beating on his window-pane and moaning 
round the house. He felt he could hardly 
bear the thought, and the sound of the pitiless 
rain tortured him. 

Of course, Miss Ainsworth was right ; he 
had been inconsiderate and unkind. If 
mother lost her voice God would be very 
angry, because Miss Ainsworth said it was a 
"divine talent." Whatever happened, the 
precious voice must be preserved, even if it 
took the one he loved away from him to the 
end of the chapter. As he mused a sudden 
thought came, bringing with it one bright ray 
of hope through the terrifying gloom. 

Away across the mile-wide tideway, in the 
small town of Ferryport, a certain Miss 
Caim, an old, wrinkled spinster, kept a 
wondrous sweet-shop, renowned for its good 
wares. When last Hal paid her a visit one 
calm autumn day she had shown him a 
large glass jar of cough-drops, bidding him 
remember when the winter came that for 
loss of voice, or sore throat, she knew no 
equal in all the wide world. Miss Cairn 
confided to him she had once assisted in a 
chemist's shop, and knew the dark secrets of 
medicine. These drops were her own manu- 
facture, and held the magic of deep know- 
ledge acquired in the past. 

Her words came back now with a force 
and power which made the great flood surg- 
ing between him and the desired goal as 
nothing compared with the thought of saving 
mother's voice ! The very difficulties in the 
way made the staunch little heart resolve to 
let no human power stay him from the task 

What matter that the ferry could not 
traverse the foaming waters? Old Micky 

Digitized by tat 

(known as Mad Micky, for risking his life in 
the wildest weather) crossed every morning 
in his worn boat with the regularity of a 
postman ! 

The inhabitants on either side were glad 
enough to make use of his fearless enterprise, 
for to be cut off from communication often 
proved highly inconvenient. So they paid 
him to carry their wares, and traded with 
each other, while they shrugged their shoul- 
ders at the danger entailed. 

" Poor craythur ! " they would say ; 
" shure, and he's bound to go under some 
day, but there's none at home to mourn him, 
and he's set his mind on a watery grave ! " 

To Hal that night Mad Micky appeared 
as the one bright spot on the dark horizon of 
his childish sorrow. 

If only he had Miss Cairn's cough-drops 
safely at Castle . Stewart when Mrs. Court 
arrived, all anxiety could be at an end. The 
lost voice must needs return under the in- 
fluence of such wonderful round, coloured 
lozenges, with purple or pink stripes for 
choice. He fancied mother would like the 
pink stripes best, because they were prettier. 

Lulled by the glad notion of repairing his 
sinful past, little Hal let his heavy, tear- 
stained eyes close, and dreamt of a beauteous 
lady in a tea-gown, of Mad Micky, and sweets 
in a huge glass jar away across the tide. 


When Hal, auer many difficulties, escaped 
the watchful eyes of Miss Ainsworth, and 
running through torrents of rain hid himself 
under a drenched tarpaulin at the bottom of 
Micky's boat, the supreme moment of his life 
had been reached. 

He suspected that on such a morning of 
storm even Mad Micky might possibly refuse 
to pilot human cargo across the rough water, 
for New Year's Eve outvied the previous days 
of tempest. 

The boat, moored at the Castle Stewart end 
of Slaneyford Lough, lay in sight of the roar- 
ing sea, whose billows broke upon innumerable 
creeks made alive by the hurrying presence of 
foam-crested waves. 

Hal had collected all the money he 
possessed in his small pockets — silver for Miss 
Cairn, and three big pennies for Mad Micky 
when the moment should arrive to reveal his 
hidden presence. 

No wonder the boy's heart beat furiously, 
for of all his life's adventures this appeared 
the most thrilling and terrifying. 

It was one thing to play at shipwrecked 
mariners and to storm castles in which no 

vri Lfrr i a r 1 1 t?i 1 1 




ogres dwelt — it proved a different matter to lie 
calmly concealed while Micky, who " had 
set his mind on a watery grave/' let his frail 
barque tear across the Lough under a single 

The boy knew enough of the treacherous 
current and the strength of the tide to realize 
fully the perils of his passage. 

Peeping from under his covering he could 
see the reckless face of his unconscious 
guide, fully aware that no man valuing his 
safety would sail as Mad Micky sailed that 

The child's sensitive nature would have 
been tortured by fears but for the encourag- 
ing influence of a great unselfish love, 

11 It's for mother's sake 1 n he said, hiding 

flung caution to the winds, and was by no 
means depressed at landing in a hurricane of 
squall and dirt on the dear, familiar Irish 

Her first thought was for Hal as she 
crossed the threshold of her old home* and a 
sudden keen misgiving pierced her like a 
knife when faces of frightened distress greeted 
her on the doorstep. 

11 Where is Hal ? " 

The words broke sharply ; the bright, mag- 
nificent eyes flashed a glance of terror from 
right to left, 

;( We don't know ! " The answer came 
unsteadily from faltering lips. w He dis- 
appeared this morning ; he was last seen by 
one of the gardeners, running towards the 


his eyes from the swift, deep body of water, 
whipped into fury by the wind as it viciously 
lashed the sail. 

" It's for mother's sake \ " he repeated, 
when the personal discomfort of his position 
warned him there can be few places wetter 
or more cheerless than a small boat unpro- 
tected from the elements when the rain 
descends in really gross solidity, 

Mrs, Court felt none the worse for her 
journey as she drove to Castle Stewart late 
that afternoon. 

She was really rather amused at having 

Digitized by LiOOQle 

Lough, slipping over the slimy stones and 
rocks. The man wondered we allowed him 
out in the wet to play on the weedy boulders, 
but the foolish fellow said nothing till it was 
too late. When he heard Hal was missing 
he spoke, but not till then. The shore has 
been searched, but " 

Mrs. Court stayed to hear no more. The 
blank, hopeless faces of the speakers told 
the rest. 

Miss Ainsworth was weeping hysterically, 
and grandmamma's features grew stone-like 
in their set misery. 

All the new-comer realized was that Hal — - 




her Hal — had met with some disaster, Only 
Ehe gravest accident would keep him away at 
such a moment. Her mind leapt to the 
worst fears. Like one possessed she rushed 
alone down the long drive, hardly knowing 
what she did, till her feet reached the very 
brink of the flowing tide. 

Surely the cry of her heart must call, even 

wind was so high, and his mast broke. I 
was frightened you'd lose your voice, sc 
I went to Ferry port to buy Miss Cairn's 
cough-drops. They are splendid, dearest ■ 
try one and see ! " 

Already he had ferreted into the bag, 
and was holding between a salted 
thumb and finger a brilliant specimen 


above the storm, to little Hal, the tender, 
clinging child* accustomed to think ahvavs 
of her pleasure during the happy days they 
spent at home together. 

As if in answer to her soul's appeal, along 
the bank of" the Loughs dark, swollen water, 
running at full speed, came a small breath- 
less figure, drenched to the skin, holding 
aloft a tiny paper packet, which he waved 

" Dearest, it was for you ! " he cried. 
"And, oh! I'm so sorry to be late, but 
Micky nearly got shipwrecked this time, the 

of Miss Cairn's triumph in pink-striped 

As Mrs, Court heard the eager tidings : 
"Dearest, it was for you ! " a rush of tears 
to her eyes and a sudden choking in lur 
throat made Hal anxious. 

"You — you have caught a cold I" he e>: 
claimed, with conviction, forcing the sugared 
cough -drop into her protesting hands, 

" No, darling boy — no," she stammered, 
mastering her emotion with an effort; "the 
New Year gladness choked me for a moment, 
that's all ! " 

by Google 

Original from 

Solutions to the Pussies in the December Nttmber. 


HE solution of this amusing 
problem is as follows : The 
fugitive started from station 
No. i on foot, carrying the 
child ; at station No, 2 he 
mounted a bicycle and, still carrying the 
child, rode to No. 3 ; there he placed 
the child in a wheelbarrow j as indicated 
by the marks of the legs of the wheel- 
barrow, he stopped before reaching 
No. 4 and put down the child, who 
walked by his side to the station ; thence 
t\e continued his journey on a tricycle, 
which also carried the child ; at No. 5 
he changed his tricycle for a 
monocycle (that is, a single- 
wheeled cycle, such as is 
used by trick - riders), 
but the child which he was 
carrying caused him to lose 
his balance and he fell; he 
then took the child in his 
;irms and carried it to No, 6 ; 
thence he started holding the 
child by the hand* but farther 
on he again took it in his 
arms and so completed the 
journey at No, 7, 

The solution of this problem will be found 

in the above sketch. Of course, the problem 
may be solved by drawing the lines the 
reverse way. 

Digitized by GoOgle 

The reader will see, by 
inspection of the accom- 
panying drawings, that the 
only way to solve this pro- 
blem is by making a cut 
along the dotted line "A" 
before making that along the dotted line " B," 
This is the only possible method of obtaining 
four pieces with two cuts of the scissors. 
This l*eing done, the method of rejoining the 
pieces so as to form the clown, as shown in 
the smaller diagram, will easily be followed, 
the pieces being numbered in order to 
show more readily where they fall 

It will be 
seen that the 
signature is 
that of the 
French Gene- 
ral, Marshal 

ey * Original trom 



io s 


The white lines on the diagram given 
above of the apple will show in what manner 
the piece is to be cut out of it, which, 
being placed in its proper position, forms 
the neck and head of the hen. The stem 
being cut off and divided into two parts, as 
shown by the dotted lines, will give the legs, 
which, when attached to the body, complete 
the figure. 

This problem is one 
of the most difficult of 
our collection. The 
dotted lines in the first 
of the accompanying 
three illustrations show- 
how the original 
sketch has to be 

divided, while the other two show the 
manner in which the pieces require to be 
put together in order to form the new figure. 

Unlike the preceding one, this problem is 
quite easy, and no doubt many hundreds of 
our readers will have found the correct 
solution. In order to obtain this it is only 
necessary to take the last triangle and 
paste upon its three sides the three other 

Vol acjrvii. — 14* 


triangles, so as to complete the cat, 
the dog, and the cock, at the same 
time producing one large triangle com- 
posed of four small ones. The three 
summits of these triangles are then brought 
together, thus forming a pyramid. The 
menagerie, with the swan, the eagle, and 
the rabbit complete, will then be found 
to have been reconstructed. 

The following design gives the solution 
of this curious problem. The dotted 

lines show in wIku way the figure is to 
be cut, and the numbers indicate the new 
position of the pieces, 

Our readers will see by a glance at the 
ing drawing 
what features 
of the origi- 
nal landscape 
it was neces- 
sary to pre- 
serve in order 
to solve the 
problem, and 
which were 
produced by 
the school- 
boy's pencil and must accordingly be 
removed, The drawing represents a light- 
house built on the edge of a cliff. 
Original from 







The method of 
making a flower 
out of the four 
grotesque heads 
which were re- 
presented in the 
diagram is one of 
the simplest of the 
series. All that 
is required is to 
cut out the four 
heads, remove 
the white part, 

This drawing gives the solution of the 
problem, showing to what bodies the respec- 
tive heads and legs should be attached. 

The two signs of the Zodiac which it is 
necessary to choose, and the method of 

placing them among the stars and dots, are 
here shown* 

Cut the paper into an exact square just 
containing the 
birds and fold it in 
the wel 1-knovv n 
manner of making 
a " paper bird," 
when the two birds 
will appear, one as 
shown, and the other 
on the reverse* 

by LiOOgle 

and place them one upon the other. The 
space left empty then forms the flower, as 
will be easily understood by inspecting the 
two designs here given. Each figure is 
represented by a dotted line. 

Roll the strip of paper in a spiral, and the 
pieces of the serpent will be joined, while 
the file will disappear,!: 





Four black 
discs will be 
obtain 1 <J by mak- 
ing six folds the 
long way of the 
design and two 
across it, as 
shown in the 
two accompany- 
ing drawings, 


The animal is 

an elephant, as 
the reader can see 
for himself, and 

ir 1 

the method of forming him will also be 
readily apparent without further explanation. 

the motor-cars from one shed 
-J into the other : — 

I. Move car No, 5 inks the refuge. 

2- Move No. % into the plate of No, 5. 

3. Move No. 3 into the spare between the refuge 
and the lower >\ui\. 

4. Move No. 5 irckf the place of No. J. 

5. Move No. 3 into ihe place of No. 2. 

6. Move No. 2 intt> ihe refuge. 

7. Move No. 6 into the space hetween the refuge 
and Iht- upper shed. 

8. Move No. 2 into I be place of No. 6. 

9. Move No. 6 inio ihe refuge. 

10. Move No, 3 inio the lower shed in the place 
of No. 5. 

II. Move No. 1 into the space hetween the 
refuge and the lower shed* 

12. Move No. 6 into the 
upper shed in the place of 
No. j. 

13. Move No. 1 in the 
place of No. 2 in the upper 

14. Move No. 3 into the 
space hetween the refuge and 
the upper shed. 

15. Move No. 4 into ihe 
. refuge. 

16. Move No- 3 inio the 
place of No. 4 in ihe Iowlt 

17- Move No* 1 into the 
lower shed. 

iH. Move No. 4 into the 
upper shed. 

The point is shown 
in the diagram below : 

The outline shows the track which is 
to be followed by the traveller in order 
to penetrate the forest and reach the 
castle in the centre. 

The following is the series of eighteen 
movements which are required to transfer 

Digitized by Google 


By E, Nesbtt, 

HEN you hear that the four 
children found themselves at 
Waterloo Station quite un - 
taken -care -of, and with no one 
to meet them, it may make 
you think that their parents 
were neither kind nor careful. But ii ymi 
think this you will be wrong. The fact is, 
mother arranged with Aunt Emma that she 
was to meet the children .at Waterloo when 
they went back from their Christmas holiday 
at Lyndhurst. The train was fixed, but not 
the day. Then mother wrote to Aunt 
Emma, giving her careful instructions about 
the day and the hour, and about luggage and 
cabs and things, and gave the letter to Robert 
to post But the hounds happened to meet 
near Rufus's Stone that morning* and, what 
is more, on the way to the meet they met 
Robert, and Robert met them, and in- 
stantly forgot all about posting Aunt Emma's 
letter, and never thought of it again until 
he and the others had wandered three 
times up and down the platform at Waterloo 
—which makes twenty-four trips in all — and 
had bumped up against old gentlemen, and 
stared in the faces of ladies, and been shoved 
by people in a hurry, and " by-your-leaved " 

by porters with trucks, and were quite sure 
that Aunt Emma was not there. 

Then suddenly the true truth of what he had 
forgotten to do came home to Robert, and he 
said "Oh, crikey!" and stood still with his 
mouth open, and let a porter with a Gladstone 
bag in each hand and a bundle of umbrellas 
under one arm blunder heavily into him, 
and never so much as said " Where are you 
shoving to now?" or "Look out where you're 
going, can't you ? " The heavier bag smote 
him at the knee, and he staggered, but he 
said nothing. When the others understood 
what was the matter I think they told Robert 
what they thought of him, 

" We must take the train to Croydon," said 
Anthea, "and find Aunt Emma-" 

"Yes," said Cyril, "and precious pleased 
those Jevonses would be to see us and our 

Aunt Emma, indeed, was staying with 
some Jevonses — very prim ladies. They were 
middle-aged and wore very smart blouses, 
and they were fond of matinfcs and shopping, 
and they did not care about children. 

** I know mother would be pleased to see 
us if we went back," said Jane, 

"Yes, she would; but shed think it was 

Copyright, 1904, by Gcorgt Ncwncv 

. . \*. 1 u_ 11 1 a 1 1 1 \j 1 1 1 





f l 

not right to show she was pleased, because 
it's Bob's fault we're not met. Don't I know 
the sort of thing?" said Cyril " Besides, 
we've no tin, except my tip grandfather gave 
me, and I'm not going to blue that because 
Robert's gone and made an ass of himself. 
No ; we've enough among us for a growler, 
but not enough for tickets to the New 
Forest. We must just go home. They 
won't be so savage when they find we J ve 
really got home all right. You know auntie 
was only going to take us home in a cab." 
"I believe we ought to go to Croydon," 

Anthea insisted 
"Aunt Emma would be out, to a dead 

cert," said Robert, "Those Jevonses go to 

the theatre every afternoon, I believe. 

Besides, there's the Phoenix at 

home, a fid the carpet. I votes 

we call a four-wheeled cab- 
A four-wheeled cabman was 

called — his cab was one of the 

old - fashioned 

kind, w i t h 

straw in the 

bottom — and 

he was asked 

by Anthea to 

drive them 

very carefully 

to their ad- 
dress. This he 

did, and the 

price he asked 

for doing so 

was exactly the 

value of the 

gol d coin 

grandpapa had 

jfiven Cyril for 


This cast a 

gloom — but 

Cyril would 

never have 

stooped to 

argue about a 

cab - fare, for 

fear the cabman should think he was not 

accustomed to take cabs whenever he wanted 

them. For a reason that was something like 

this he told the cabman to put the luggage 

on the steps, and waited till the wheels of 

the growler had grittily retired before he rang 

the l«H. " You see," he said, with his hand 

on the handle, " we don't want cook and 

Eliza asking us before him how it is we've 

come home alone — as if we were babies." 

. ; [I 



Here he rang the bell ; and the moment 
its answering clang was heard everyone felt 
that it would be some time before that bell 
was answered. The sound of a bell is quite 
different, somehow, when there is anyone 
inside the house who hears it. I can't tell 
you why that is — but so it is. 

" I expect they're changing their dresses," 
said Jane, 

" Too late/' said Anthea ; M it must be past 
five, I expect Eliza's gone to post a letter 
and cook's gone to see the time," 

Cyril rang again. And the bell did its 
best to inform the listening children that 
there was really no one human in the house. 
They rang again, and listened intently, The 
hearts of all sank low. It is a terrible thing 

to be locked 
out of your 
own house on 
a dark, muggy, 
January even- 

"There is 
no gas on any- 
where/ 1 said 
Jane, in a 
broken voice, 

" I expect 
they've left the 
gas on once 
too often, and 
the draught 
blew it out, 
and they're 
suffocated in 
their beds, 
Father always 
said they 
would some 
day," said 
Robert, cheer- 
" Let's go and fetch a 
policeman," said Anthea, 

"And be taken up for 
trying to be burglars — no, 
thank you," said Cyril. " I 
heard father read out of the paper about a 
young man who got into his own mother's 
house, and they got him made a burglar only 
the other day." 

" I only hope the gas hasn't hurt the 
Phoenix," said Anthea. " It said it wanted 
to stay in the bathroom cupboard, and 1 
thought it would be all right because the 
servants *never clean that out. But if it's 
gone and got out and been choked by gas— 





and, besides, directly we open the door we 
shall be choked too. I knew we ought to 
have gone to Aunt Emma at Croydon, Oh, 
Squirrel, I wish we had. Let ? s go now" 

l£ Shut up/ 1 said her brother, briefly, 
" There's someone rattling the latch inside." 

Everyone listened with all its ears, and 
everyone stood back as far from the door as 
the steps would allow. 

The latch rattled and clicked. Then the 
flap of the letter-box lifted itself — everyone 
saw it by the flicker- 
ing light of the gas- 
lamp that shone 
through the leafless 
lime tree by the 
gate— a golden eye 
seemed to wink at 
them through the 
letter - box^ and a 
cautious beak whis- 
pered :— 

"Are you 
alone ? 7 ' 

11 It's the Phce- 
nix/'said everyone, 
in a voice so joyous 
and so full of relief 
as to be a sort of 
whispered shout. 

"Hush!" said 
the voice from the 
letter - box slit. 
" Your slaves have 
gone a -me rry- 
making. The latch 
of this portal is too 
.stiff for my delicate 
beak. But at the 
side — the little 
window above the 
shelf whereon your bread 
lies — it is not fastened." 

" Right O ! " said Cyril, 

And Anthea added : " 
wish you'd meet us there, 
clear Phoenix." 

The children crept round 
to the pantry window. It is at the side of 
the house, and there is a green gate labelled 
M Tradesmen's Entrance/' which is always 
kept bolted. Rut if you get one foot on the 
fence between you and next door, and one 
on the handle of the gate, you are over 
before you know where you are. This, at 
least, was the experience of Cyril and 
Robert, and even, if the truth must be told, 
of Anthea and Jane. So in almost no 
time all four were in the narrow gravelled 

Digitized by L»< 

passage that runs between that house and 
the next. 

Then Robert made a back, and Cyril 
hoisted himself up and got his knicker- 
bockered knee on the concrete window-sill. 
He dived into the pantry head-first, as one 
dives into water, and his legs waved in the 
air as he went, just as your legs do w r hen you 
are first beginning to learn to dive. The 
soles of his boots — squarish, muddy patches 
— disappeared. 

"Give us a leg-up," said Robert 
to his sisters. 

14 No, you don%" said Jane, firmly. 
11 I'm not going to be left outside 
here with just Anthea, and have 
something creep up behind us out 
of the dark. Squir- 
rel can go and open 
the back door." 

A light had 
sprung awake in 
the pantry. Cyril 
always said the 
Phoenix turned the 
gas on with its 
beak and lighted it 
with a waft of its 
wing, but he was 
excited at the time 
and perhaps he 
really did it himself 
with matches, and 
then forgot all 
about it. He let 
the others in by the 
back door. And 
when it had been 
bolted again and 
the luggage had 
been got off the 
doorstep the child- 
ren went all over 
the house and 
lighted every single 
gas-jet they could 
find, For they 
couldn't help feel- 
ing that this was just the dark, dreary 
winter's evening when an armed burglar 
might easily be expected to appear at any 
moment. There is nothing like light when 
you are afraid of burglars, or of anything 
else, for that matter. 

And when all the gas-jets were lighted it 
was quite clear that the Phcenix had made 
no mistake, and that Kliza and cook were 
really out, and that there was no one in the 
house except the four children, and the 





Phoenix and the carpet, and the black-beetles 
who lived in the cupboards on each side of 
the nursery fireplace. These last were very 
pleased that the children had come home 
again, especially when Anthea had lighted 
the nursery fire. But, as usual, the children 
treated the loving little black-beetles with 
coldness and disdain. 

While Anthea was delighting the poor 
little black-beetles with the cheerful blaze, 
Jane had set the table for — I was going to 
say tea, but the meal of which I am speaking 
was not exactly tea. Let us call it a tea-ish 
meal. There was tea, certainly, for Anthea's 
fire blazed and crackled so kindly that -it 
really seemed to be affectionately inviting the 
kettle to come and sit upon its lap. So the 
kettle was brought and tea made. But no 
milk could be found, so everyone had six 
lumps of sugar to each cup instead. The 
things to eat, on the other hand, were nicer 
than usual. The boys looked about very 
carefully, and found in the pantry some cold 
tongue, bread, butter, cheese, and part of a 
cold pudding — very much nicer than cook 
ever made when they were at home. And in 
the kitchen cupboard were half a Christmassy 
cake, a pot of strawberry jam, and about a 
pound of mixed candied fruit with soft, 
crumbly slabs of delicious sugar in each cup 
of lemon, orange, or citron. 

It was indeed, as Jane said, " a banquet 
fit for an Arabian knight." 

The Phoenix perched on Robert's chair, 
and listened kindly and politely to all they 
had to tell it about their visit to Lyndhurst, 
and underneath the table, by just stretching 
a toe down rather far, the faithful carpet 
could be felt by all, even by Jane, whose legs 
were very short. 

"Your slaves will not return to-night," 
said the Phoenix. "They sleep under the 
roof of the cook's step-mother's aunt, who is, 
I gather, hostess to a large party to-night in 
honour of her husband's cousin's sister-in- 
law's mother's ninetieth birthday." 

" I don't think they ought to have gone 
without leave," said Anthea, " however many 
relations they have, but I suppose we ought 
to wash up." 

" It's not our business about the leave," 
said Cyril, firmly ; " but I simply won't wash 
up for them. We got it, and we'll clear it 
away — and then we'll go somewhere on the 
carpet It's not often we get a chance of 
being out all night. We can go right away 
to the other side of the Equator, to the 
tropical climes, and see the sun rise over 
the great Pacific Ocean." 

by Google 

" Right you are," said Robert. " I always 
did want to see the Southern Cross and the 
stars as big as gas-lamps." 

"Dorit go," said Anthea, very earnestly, 
"because I couldn't. I'm sure mother 
wouldn't like us to leave the house, and 
I should hate to be left here alone." 

"I'd stay with you," said Jane, loyally. 

" I know you would," said Anthea, grate- 
fully ; " but even with you I'd much rather 

"Well," said Cyril, trying to be kind and 
amiable, "I don't want you to do anything 
you think's wrong, but " 

He was silent. This silence said many 

" I don't see " Robert was beginning, 

when Anthea interrupted. 

"I'm quite sure. Sometimes you just 
think a thing's wrong, and sometimes you 
know. And this is a know time." 

The Phoenix turned kind golden eyes on 
her and opened a friendly beak to say : — 

"When it is, as you say, a 'know time' 
there is no more to be said. And your noble 
brothers would never leave you." 

"Of course not," said Cyril, rather quickly. 
And Robert said so, too. 

"I myself," the Phoenix went on, "am 
willing to help in any way possible. I will 
myself go — either by carpet or on the wing — 
and fetch you anything you can think of to 
amuse you during the evening. In order 
to waste no time I could go while you wash 
up. Why," it went on, in a musing voice, 
"does one wash up teacups and wash down 
the stairs ? " 

" You couldn't wash stairs up, you know," 
said Anthea, "unless you began at the 
bottom and went up feet first as you 
washed. I wish cook would try that way 
for a change." 

" I don't," said Cyril, briefly. " I should 
hate the look of her elastic-side boots stick- 
ing up." 

"This is mere trifling," said the Phoenix. 
" Come, decide what I shall fetch for you. I 
can get you anything you like." 

But, of course, they couldn't decide. 
Many things were suggested : a rocking-horse, 
jewelled chessmen, an elephant, a bicycle, a 
motor-car, books with pictures, musical 
instruments, and many other things. But a 
musical instrument is agreeable only to the 
player, unless he has learned to play it really 
well ; books are not sociable, bicycles cannot 
be ridden without going out of doors, and 
the same is true of motor-cars and elephants. 
Only two people can play chess at once with 




one set of chessmen (and anyway it's very 
much too much like lessons for a game), and 
only one can ride on a rocking-horse. 
Suddenly in the midst of the discussion the 
Phoenix spread its wings and fluttered to the 
floor, and from there it spoke. 

" I gather," it said, " from the carpet that 
it wants you to let it go to its old home, 
where it was born and brought up, and it 
will return within the hour laden with a 


number of the most beautiful and delightful 
products of its native land," 

41 What is its native land ? " 

" I didn't gather. But since you can't 
agree, and time is passing and the tea-things 
are not washed down — I mean washed 

u p — 

11 1 votes we do," said Cyril. "It'll stop 
all this jaw, any way. And it's not bad to 
have surprises. Perhaps it J s a Turkey carpet, 
and it might bring us Turkish delight" 

" Or a Turkish patrol," said Robert. 

" Or a Turkish bath," said Anthea. 

" Or a Turkish towel," said Jane. 

" Nonsense," Cyril urged ; u it said beaut i- 

Digitized by GoOfilc. 

ful and delightful, arid towels and baths aren't 
thal^ however good they may be for you. 
Let it go. I suppose it won't give us the 
slip," he added, pushing back his chair and 
standing up. 

" Hush ! " said the Phoenix ; " how can 
you ? Don't trample on its feelings just 
because it's only a carpet." 

" But how can it do it — unless one of us 
is on it — to do the wishing ? n asked Robert. 
He spoke with a rising hope that it 
fni^ht be necessary for one to go 
— and why not Robert? But the 
Phcenix; quickly threw cold water 
on his new-born flame. 

" Why, you just write your wish on 

a paper and pin it on the carpet" 

So a leaf was torn from 

Anthea's arithmetic book, and 

on it Cyril wrote, in large 

round-hand, the following : — 

" We wish you to go to 
your dear native home, and 
bring back the most beautiful 
and delightful productions of 
it you can — and not to be gone 
long, please. (Signed) 

"Cyril, Robert, Anthea, 

Then the paper was laid on 
the carpet 

4t Writing down, please," said 

the Phoenix ; " the carpet can't 

read a paper whose back is 

turned to it any more than 

you can," 

It was pinned fast ; and the 

table and chairs having been moved 

the carpet simply and suddenly 

vanished, rather like a patch of 

water on a hearth under a fierce 

fire. The edges got smaller and 

smaller, and then it disappeared 

from sight 

" It may take it some time to collect the 

beautiful and delightful things/' said the 

Phoenix. '* I should wash up — I mean wash 


So they did, There was plenty of hot 
water left in the kettle, and everyone helped : 
even the Phoenix, who took up cups by their 
handles with its clever claws, and dipped 
them in the hot water, and then stood them 
on the table ready for Anthea to dry them. 
Everything was nicely washed up and dried 
and put in its proper place, and the dish-cloth 
washed and hung on the edge of the copper 
to dry, and the tea-cloth was hung on the line 
that goes across the scullery. (If you are a 
Original from 





duchess" s child, '"dr a Kings, or a person 
of high social position's child, you will, 
perhaps, not know the difference between a 
dish-cloth and a "tea-cloth, but in that case 
your nurse has been better instructed than 
you, and she will tell you all about it.) And 
just as eight hands and one pair of claws 
were being dried on the roller towel behind 
the scullery door there came a strange 
sound from the other side of the 
kitchen wall — the side where the nursery 
was. It was a very strange sound indeed — 
most odd — and unlike any other sounds the 
children had ever heard. At least, they had 
heard sounds as much like it as a toy engine's 
whistle is like a steam siren's, 

"The carpet's come hack/' said Robert, 
and the others felt that he was right 

" But what has it brought with it ? " asked 
Jane. *' It sounds like Leviathan, that great 

beast " 

** It couldn*t have been made in India and 
have brought elephants ? Even baby ones 
would be rather awful in that room,'' said 

" It's no use sending the carpet to fetch 
precious things for you if you're afraid to 
look at them when they come," said the 
Phoenix, sensibly. And Cyril, being the 
eldest, said " Come on/* and turned the 

Vol. rxviL-16, 

The gas had been left full on after tea, 
and everything in the room could be plainly 
seen by the ten eyes at the door. At least, 
not everything, for though the carpet was 
there it was invisible, because it was com- 
pletely covered by the hundred and ninety- 
nine beautiful objects which it had brought 
from its birthplace, 

" Cats ! " Cyril exclaimed. " I never 
thought about its being a Persian carpet;" 

Y r et it was now plain that this was so, for 
the beautiful objects which it had brought 
back were cats — Persian cats — grey Persian 
cats, and there were, as I have said, one 
hundred and ninety-nine of them, and they 
were sitting on the carpet as close as they 
could get to each other. But the moment 
the children entered the room the cats rose 
and stretched, and spread and overflowed 
from the carpet to the floor, and in an instant 
the floor was a sea of moving, mewing 
pussishncss, and the children, with one accord, 
climbed to the table and gathered up their 
legs, and the people next door knocked on 
the wall ; and, indeed, no wonder, for the 
mews were Persian and piercing. 

"This is pretty poor sport," said Cyril 
" What's the matter with the bounders ? " 

11 1 imagine that they are hungry/' said the 
Phoenix. " If you were to feed them — — " 

" We haven't anything to feed them with," 




said Anthea, in despair, and she stroked the 
nearest Persian back, "Oh, pussies, do be 
quiet; we can't hear ourselves think/* She 
had to shout this entreaty, for the mews were 
growing deafening. u And it would take 
pounds and pounds* worth of cat's-meat." 

one small room, all hungry, and all saying so 
in unmistakable mews, you can form but a 
poor idea of the noise that now deafened the 
children and the Phoenix. 

The cats mewed and mewed and mewed, 

and twisted their Persian forms in and out 

and unfolded their Persian tails, and 

the children and the Phoenix huddled 

together by the door. 

The Phoenix, Robert noticed sud- 
denly, was trembling. 

"So many cats," it said, "and they 
might not know I was the Phoenix. 
These accidents happen so quickly. It 
quite unmans me." 


" Let's ask the carpet to take them away," 
said Robert. 

But the girls said " No.' 1 

"They are so soft and pussy,* said Jane, 

"And valuable," said Anthea, hastily, 
"We can sell them for lots and lots of 

" Why not send the carpet to get food for 
them ? " suggested the Phoenix, and its 
golden voice became harsh and cracked with 
the effort it had to make to be heard above 
the increasing fierceness of the Persian mews. 

So it was written that the carpet should 
bring food for one hundred and ninety-nine 
Persian cats and the paper was pinned to 
the carpet as before. 

The carpet seemed to gather itself together, 
and the cats dropped off it as rain-drops do 
from your mackintosh when you shake it. 
And the carpet disappeared, 

Unless you have had one hundred and 
ninety-nine well nourished Persian cats in 

This was a danger of which the children 
had not thought. 

"Creep in," cried Robert, opening his 
jacket. And the Phoenix crept in — only 
just in time, for green eyes had glared, 
pink noses had sniffed, white whiskers had 
twitched, and as Robert buttoned his coat 
he disappeared to the waist in a wave of 
eager grey Persian fur. And on the instant 
the good carpet slapped itself down on the 
floor. And it was covered with rats —three 
hundred and ninety -eight of them, I believe 
— two for each cat. 

"How horrible!" cried Anthea. "Oh, 
take them away ! " 

"Take yourself away/' said the Phoenix, 
11 and me," 

"I wish we'd never had a carpet," said 
Anthea, tn tears. 

They hustled and crowded out of the 
door, and shut, it and locked it, Cyril, 
with great presertw "feP 'Blind, lit a candle 




and turned off the gas at the main. " The 
rats'll have a better chance in the dark," 
he said* 

The mewing had ceased. Everyone 
listened in breathless silence. We all know 
that cats eat rats — it is 
one of the first things 
we read in our nice 
little reading books ; 
but all those cats eat- 
ing all those rats — it 
wouldn't bear think- 
ing of. 


Suddenly Robert sniffed, in the silence 
of the dark kitchen where the only candle 
was burning all on one side, because of 
the draught, 

M What a funny scent ! " he said. 

And as he spoke a lantern flashed its light 
through the window of the kitchen, a face 
peered in, and a voice said s— 

44 What's all this row about? You let 
me in." 

It was the voice of the police ! 

Robert tip-toed to the window and spoke 

through the pane that was a little cracked. 

"What do you mean? !i he said. "There's 
no row. You listen ; everything's as quiet 
as quiet." 

And indeed it was. 

The strange sweet scent grew stronger, and 
the Phcenix put out its 

The policeman hesi- 

"They're musk rats," 
said the Phcenix. " I 
su ppose some cats eat 
them — but never Persian 
ones. What a mistake 
for a well-informed 
carpet to make ! Oh, 
what a night we're 
having ! " 

t( I >o go away/* said 
Robert, nervously, to 
the policeman, " We're 
just going to bed — 
that's our bedroom 
candle — there isn't any 
row. Everything's as 
quiet as a mouse/* 

A wild chorus of mews 
drowned his words, and 
with the mews were min- 
gled the shrieks of the 
musk rats. What had 
happened ? Had the 
cats tasted them be ft j re 
deciding that they dis- 
liked the flavour? 

46 I'm a -cumin* in," 
said the policeman, 
11 You've got a cat shut 
up there," 

"A cat!" said Cyril, 
" Oh, my onlv aunt ! A 
cat ! " 

" Come in, then," said 
Robert. "It's your own 
look-out I advise you 
not. Wait a shake, 
and III undo the side door*" 

He undid the side door, and the police- 
man, very cautiously, came in* 

And there, in the kitchen, by the li^ht 
of one candle, with the mewing and the 
screaming going on like a dozen steam 
sirens, twenty waiting motorcars, and half 
a hundred squeaking pumps, four agitated 
voices shouted to the policeman four mixed 
or wholly different explanations of the very 
mixed events of the evening, 

Did you ever try to explain the simplest 
thing to a potfiqinraWto rn 



Copyright, 1904, by George Newnes, Ltd. 
\W* shall ht glad to recent Contrihnthns to tkh sttifon* and to pay for suck as are accepted* \ 

"There is a blacksmith's shop at LEancayo, near 
Usk, Mom, thai possesses an extraordinary window. 

Tin- framework of the w in ilow consists u[ a cart-wheel 
lei into the wall, with panes of glass between the 
spokes. 7 * — Mr* W. Marsh, I, 
Church Street, Monmouth. 

ik While staying in |ersev I visited a point called 
La Corbierc, where I noiired a mirror in the form of 
a kill standing out in ihc ojxu <>n a pedestal. < Hijccts 
reflected in it were so clear that I determined to 
[I'lotograph it, with the result 'hat rattier curious 
shapes were given to my set f and friend/' — Mr. C. S. 
Wilson, l8 t Milton Road, Swindon- 

** I send you a post- card which 
I received in the ordinary' way by 
post from my brother, who lives 
at Sutton Scarsdale, a scattered 
village near Chesterfield. You will 
noike that the cart! was posted at 
7- 15 p.m.. on the 5th October, and 
it was delivered during &he evening 
o f 1 1 1 e fol I o w i ng day. Th c ad d ress 
looks a mixture of Greek and 
German, hut on inspection it will 
be found that each letter is spelled 
out in full. The pencilled words 
were inserted by the Post < Mice 
officials- The 1'osl Office is often 
the object of complaints for tardi- 
ness in delivery, but I think great 
credit is due to it for its cleverness 
and promptness in this case/' 
Mr* John Alderson, 12, Albert 
K'.uil. Stroud Green, N. 


Til K AM'ttl. »• lUlh fbiUiH :* "N 71 , 

i' ■*■ . t 1 * art 

^ f ><* <i*< aLm u An , t {"<> u hi* Ut** 

Google - 

On g in a I from 




M This original 
auto was made in 
the winter of [886 
by Mr. Philbrick 
and Mr. J. Elmer 
Wood in Bever- 
ley, Mass. 1 1 had 
double engines, 
porcupine I toiler, 
kerosene fuel, and 
only ihree wheels 
- l wo fir which 
were thirty - six 
inches in diameter, 
and I he front, or 
steering - wheel, 
I wen ty -six inches. 
It was used on the 
road with great 
success, carrying 
about Ihree hun- 
dred pounds of 
steam, but wanted 
so- /.e changes, which even at l hat early dale we could easily 
see. The machine is slill existing at Beverley, though it 
is now, of course, somewhat dilapidated after so many 
years of wear." — Mr. J. Elmer Wood, Beverley, Mass. 



" 'A 


2l -m^if^ 

i - 


■,'-,W v ' 


i'--if *>** 

* . 


Mr. D. Allen Willev, 

compressed air 
into the lube, and 
the ball is shot 
out like the bullet 
from an air gun. 
The invention is 
not intended to 
lake the place of 
a human pitcher, 
hut to be used in 
practice games, so 
l hat tbe man at 
l he bat can he- 
come expert in 
hitting curves and 
twills pitched at 
various degrees of 
speed." Why 
should not a simi- 
lar machine lie 
used in this 
country as a 
practice bowler 
al cricket?— The 
above is sent by 

" This curious- looking machine is a baseball pitcher which 
is automatic. , It is operated by compressed air, and is so 
arranged that it will "pilch 1 a ball with an upward curve or 
downward curve just as well as an expert ball player* The 
macbine consists of a tube about thirty-six inches long which 
is just large enough to hold the lxiT.1. The lube can lw pointed 
in any direction, and the rear end is fitted with a contrivance 
by which the ball can be curved. When the operator wishes 
to make a pitch he merely presses a lever which admits ihe 

a tioi;rs DWAK1-". 
" This figure of ihe dwarf, taken at an 
evening, party in Kimherley, South Africa, 
was impersonated by "my brother and a 
friend as follows : My brother stood up- 
right with his hands on a table (tbese 
forming the feet of the dwarf)* on which 
were placed stockings and small shoes. 
He find a I in If garment made with sleeves, 
through which his friend, who stood just 
behind, put his arms and hands, on 
which were mittens id make them look 
small ; these formed the hands of the 
dwarf. My h rut her was adorned with a 
large sun hat called a i cappie,' goggles, 
and a necklace, and the dwarf was com- 
plete—his friend, of course, being con* 
cealed bv curtains."— Mr, F. K. Glover, 
41, Drayton ?aik, Highbury, 3S\ 









flm EsJ 



1 if if 

p ' " r -^ 





"1 send you the photograph nf an extra 
ordinarily curious insect, I am not prepared to 
say whether it is an insect or some kind erf 
organism. I can only say that u is alive and 
lives on red lead. The lady in whose* possession 
it b has had it for upwards of eighteen years, 
and who knows how many years of life it had 
before? It is covered with light brown liair 
(which has to be cut occasionally), very like 
deer's hair, and is the size of a large marble. The 
5 curious insect ' was given to the lady's husband 
by a rich native who gave up all his worldly 
possessions and became a fakir. When giving 
it to the gentleman (who had shown the man 
some kindness) he said that it would always bring 
him good luck-"— Mr + T- G. A. Baness, I Jail 
Bazaar^ Amritsur, Punjab. 


"The discarded railway carriage shown hi the 
plmiogTstph has had an eventful career. After 
i icing drawn at the end of freight trains over 
thousands of miles of the Erie Railroad tracks 
it was finally condemned and sent to the grave- 
yard, where cars of this character meet an igno^ 
minious end— i hey Ijeing chopped up for firewood, 
But after it had been sent to what was thought 
would be its last resting-place, Lieut. Peary, 

the well-known Arctic explorer, asked the Erie 
Railroad officials if they could loan him a 
discarded carriage for use on his ship Windward. 
This carriage was accordingly selected, and it was 
placed on the deck of the Windward, where it was 
fitted up as a cabin, The journeys of this carriage, 
therefore, instead of being at an end had really only 
begun, for it was destined to make the longest trip in 
its history. It remained on board the Windward 
throughout the perilous trip to the Frozen North, and 
returned with the ship to New York a little over a 
year ago. Lieut. Peary having no further use for it 
sent it back to the Erie Railroad, and it is now an 
object of curiosity at Shohola Glen, Pike County, Pa ;i 
a popular excursion resort on the line of the Erie 
Railroad."— Mr. Adolph A. Langer, I i6 t Danforth 
Avenue, Jersey City, N.J. 

"This enormous barrel was erected 
in the great Industrial Exhibition held 
at Osaka, Japan. It is the property 
of the ' Yebisu * Beer Company, and 
was built for the purpose of advertis- 
ing that brand of malt liquor. The 
height is at* Hit fifty feet and the 
diameter of its base some thirty feet, 
while the thickness of its wall ex- 
ceeds two feet. It is fitted up as a 
lx:er hall within and contains ten 
round tables, each capable of accom- 
modating five or six persons. There 
is also a large counter. It is one of 
the most remarkable of the many 
advertising devices ever carried 
out in this enterprising * I^and of 
the Rising Sun.' The photograph 
was taken by Mr* G. M. Arab, of 
this city,;'— Mr. W. J, Toms KoW, 




" I send you a photograph showing in two 
positions the curious amalgamation of coins by a 
flash of lightning. This incident occurred in a 
miner's hut in Swazieland some lime in Decern ber, 
1S97, and the photograph represents money to the 
value of icurteen shillings and sixpence, viz., 
one half Loveretqn, four single shillings, and a six- 
pence- 'the money was placed on a table in the 
tinier given, the half-sovereign being under the other 
coins and lying on the face of the table. The hut was 
not injured by the lightning, as the fluid entered by 
the window and passed over the table (on which the 
coins were) and out at the open door, The table (in 
the centre of the hut and in a line with the window and 
door) had a badly scorched line over it. The money, 
after the flash, lay in exactly the same position as 
lie fore ; the only difference was its being fused into 
one ma*s instead of six different coins. At the time 
of the flash the miner happened to he absent. 11 — Mr. 
A. K, CI rah am Lawrancc, Barberlon, Transvaal. 

and in no way discoloured* Whether the poor 
pig swallowed it or sat on it I leave for your 
readers to conjecture. Photo, by W* B. 
Gardner, Farn borough." — Mr. W. j. Buck, 
Cove Road, Farn borough, Hants, 


" I was cutting the 
corner, off a gammon 
of t>acon when I dis- 
covered I had sawn 
through a piece of glass 
which was lying quite 
close to ami parallel 
with the thigh - bine, 
and had I known of its 
presence I could have 
taken it out whole. It 
measures, when put to- 
gether, six and a quarter 
inches. How it got into 
this position is a mys- 
tery, as there was no 
indication of its progress 
anywhere and the meat 
was perfectly healthy 

A stran;;e ILLUSION* 

**\ou will see in this photograph that the right 

arm of my daughter has gol the hand on the wrong 

side, the thumb being where the little finger ought 

to be. This is accounted for by the pilot o, being 

vignetted, ihe hand really belonging to 

another daughter who does not appear in the 

picture.' 1 — Mr. Dorsay Ansell, SupL St. 

George's Garden, Wakefield Street, W.C 

** The advertisement shown, in the accom- 
panying photograph — for some drink prepared 
by one Jesse Moore — is quite the cleverest I 
have seen in any American city* It is situated 
near the entrance to the Golden Gale Park, 
at San Francisco. The shoulders, head, and 
arms of ihe man appearing above the hoard- 
ing are cut out of wood and look most real- 
istic, if somewhat gigantic, against the l>ack- 
ground of the sky, and the painting of the face 
is quite a work of art*"— Mr. F. A. E. Do!- 
mage, £43^ Cromwell Road, South Kensington. 





11 All officer was resting and enjoying a nap after 
an exceedingly hard morning's drill, A flash of light- 
ning first struck anil doubled up his scabbard and 
thence passed to his mirror hanging close by, smash- 
ing it as the teficlofted photo, shows. I need hardly 
say this worthy gentleman, awaking so suddenly from 
his slumbers, scarcely knew for some time whether he 
was in China, South Africa, or good Old England,* 
— Mr. F* K. Robinson, Sylvester House, Colchester. 

*' Here is a photograph of the cemetery for soldiers 1 
dogs at Kd in burgh Castle, Judging from the Inscrip- 
tions on the stones, each department seems to have 
had its favourite- The band pet was Tork \ that of 

the pioneer section, Pal ; the transport pet, Jess ; and* 
so on p including the general pels, such as Little Tom, . 

Turn -Turn, etc." — Mr, E. Mallinson, 12, Golden j 
Square, Aberdeen, N-B. jf 

** The dog shown in the picture is exceedingly fond 
uf his master and will follow' him almost anywhere. 
The snap-shot reproduced here shows the dog actually 
diving ofl ■ hoard in company with his master, whilst 
a friend is turning a somersault behind." Mr. J. de 
Ty m owsk i , St rat fo r< ! - su l > - Cast le, Sal isbu ry. 

M At first sight my photograph seems to be that of 
an immensely tall man, but in reality the legs of the 
giant belong to somchody else, while the top half is 
standing on a barrel." — Mr. 1L S* Nicolson, Brough 
Lodge, P'etlar, Shetland* 

by Google 

■Original from 



r^n^nfi fc Original from 



(See /rr^r 135.) 

r^n^nfi fc Original from 


The Strand Magazine. 

Vol. xxvii. 

FEBRUARY, 1904. 

Nc. 158. 





V.— The Adventure of the Priory School. 

E have had some dramatic 
entrances and exits upon our 
small" stage at Baker Street, 
but I cannot recollect any- 
thing more sudden and startling 
than the first appearance of 
Dr. Thorneycroft Huxtable, M.A., Ph.D., 
etc. His card, which seemed too small to 
carry the weight of his academic distinctions, 
preceded him by a few seconds, and then he 
entered himself — so large, so pompous, and 
so dignified that he was the very embodi- 
ment of self-possession and solidity. And 
yet his first action when the door had closed 
behind him was to stagger against the table, 
whence he slipped down upon the floor, and 
there was that majestic figure prostrate and 
insensible upon our bearskin hearthrug. 

We had sprung to our feet, and for a few 
moments we stared in silent amazement at 
this ponderous piece of wreckage, which told 
of some sudden and fatal storm far out on 
the ocean of life. Then Holmes hurried 
with a cushion for his head and I with 
brandy for his lips. r Ihe heavy white face 
was seamed with lines of trouble, the hanging 
pouches under the closed eyes w r ere leaden 
in colour, the loose mouth drooped dolorously 
at the corners, the rolling chins were un- 
shaven. Collar and shirt bore the grime 
of a long journey, and the hair bristled un- 
kempt from the well-shaped head. It was a 
sorely-stricken man who lay before us. 
"What is it, Watson ? " asked Holmes. 
"Absolute exhaustion — possibly mere 
hunger and fatigue," said I, with my finger 
on the thready pulse, where the stream of 
life trickled thin and small. 

" Return ticket from Mackleton, in the 
North of England," said Holmes, drawing it 
from the watch-pocket. "It is not twelve 

VoL xxvii.— 16 

o'clock yet. He has certainly been an early 

The puckered eyelids had begun to quiver, 
and now a pair of vacant, grey eyes looked 
up at us. An instant later the man had 
scrambled on to his feet, his face crimson 
with shame. 

"Forgive this weakness, Mr. Holmes; I 
have been a little overwrought. Thank you, 
if I might have a glass of milk and a biscuit 
I have no doubt that I should be better. I 
came personally, Mr. Holmes, in order to 
ensure that you would return with me. I 
feared that no telegram would convince you 
of the absolute urgency of the case." 

" W 7 hen you are quite restored " 

" I am quite well again. I cannot imagine 
how I came to be so weak. I wish you, Mr. 
Holmes, to come to Mackleton with me by 
the next train." 

My friend shook his head. 

" My colleague, Dr. Watson, could tell you 
that we are very busy at present. I am 
retained in this case of the Ferrers Docu- 
ments, and the Abergavenny murder is 
coming up for trial. Only a very important 
issue could call me from London at present." 

" Important ! " Our visitor threw up his 
hands. "Have you heard nothing of the 
abduction of the only son of the Duke of 
Holdernesse ? " 

" What ! the late Cabinet Minister ? " 

" Exactly. We had tried to keep it out of 
the papers, but there was some rumour in the 
Globe last night. I thought it might have 
reached your ears." 

Holmes shot out his long, thin arm and 
picked out Volume " H " in his encyclopaedia 
of reference. 

"'Holdernesse, 6th Duke, K.G., P.C— 

half the alphabet ! ' Baron Beverley, Earl of 

Copyright, 1904, by A. Conan Doyle, in the United States of America. 





Cars ton ' — dear me, what a list ! ' Ix>rd 
Lieutenant of Hallamshire since 1900. 
Married Edith, daughter of Sir Charles 
Appledore, 1888, Heir and only child, 
Lord Salt ire. Owns about two hundred and 
fifty thousand acres. Minerals in I enca- 
sh ire and Wales, Address : Carlton House 
Terrace ; Holdernesse Hall, Hallamshire ; 
Cars ton Castle, Bangor , Wales. Lord of the 
Admiralty, 1872 ; Chief Secretary of State 

for ' Well, well, this man is certainly 

one of the greatest subjects of the Crown ! " 

"The greatest and perhaps the wealthiest 
I am aware, Mr. Holmes, that you take a 
very high line in professional matters, and 
that you are prepared to work for the work's 
sake. I may tell you, however, that his 
Grace has already intimated that a cheque 
for five thousand pounds will be handed over 
to the person who can tell him where his son 
is, and another thousand to him who can 
name the man, or men, who have taken 

"It is a princely offer," said Holmes. 
"Watson, I think that we shall accompany 
Dr. Huxtable hack to the North of England. 
And now, Dr, Huxtable, when you have 
consumed that milk you will kindly tell me 
what has happened, when it happened, how 

by Google 

it happened, and, finally, what Dr. Thorney- 
croft Huxtable, of the Priory School, near 
Mackleton, has to do with the matter, and 
why he comes three days after an event — 
the state of your chin gives the 
date — to ask for my humble services." 
Our visitor had consumed his milk 
.mil hi:>< nil-. The li^ht had conic 
back to his eyes and the 
colour to his cheeks as he 
set himself w r ith great 
vigour and lucidity to ex- 
plain the situation. 

*' I must inform 
you, gentlemen, 
that the Priory- 
is a preparatory 
school, of which 
I am the founder 
and principal. 
1 Huxtablc's Side- 
lights on Horace ' 
may possibly re- 
call my name to 
your memories. 
The Priory is, 
without excep- 
tion, the best and 
most select pre- 
paratory school 
in England. Lord Lever stoke, the Earl of 
Black water, Sir Cathcart Soames — they all 
have entrusted their sons to me* But I 
felt that my school had reached its zenith 
when, three weeks ago, the Duke of Holder- 
nesse sent Mr. James Wilder, his secretary, 
with the intimation that young Lord 
Salt ire, ten years old, his only son and heir, 
was about to be committed to my charge. 
Little did I think that this would be the 
prelude to the most crushing misfortune of 
my life, 

"On May 1st the boy arrived, that being 
the beginning of the summer term. He was 
a charming youth, and he soon fell into our 
ways. 1 may tell you — I trust that I am not 
indiscreet, but half -confidences are absurd in 
such a case — that he was not entirely happy 
at home. It is an open secret that the 
Dukes married life had not been a peaceful 
one, and the matter had ended in a separa- 
tion by mutual consent, the Duchess taking 
up her residence in the South of France. 
This had occurred very shortly before, and 
the boy's sympathies are known to have been 
strongly with his mother. He moped after 
her departure from Holdernesse Hall, and it 
was for this reason that the Duke desired to 
send him to my establishment. In a fort- 
Original from 





night the boy was quite at home with us, 
and was apparently absolutely happy. 

" He was last seen on the night of May 
13th — that is, the night of last Monday. His 
room was on the second floor, and was 
approached through another larger room in 
which two boys were sleeping. These boys 
saw and heard nothing, so that it is certain 
that young Saltire did not pass out that way. 
His window was open, and there is a stout 
ivy plant leading to the ground. We could 
trace no footmarks below, but it is sure that 
this is the only possible exit 

"His absence was discovered at seven 
o'clock on Tuesday morning. His bed had 
been slept in. He had dressed himself fully 
before going off in his usual school suit of 
black Eton jacket and dark grey trousers. 
There were no signs that anyone had entered 
the room, and it is quite certain that anything 
in the nature of cries, or a struggle, would 
have been heard, since Caunter, the elder 
boy in the inner room, is a very light sleeper. 

"When Lord Saltire's disappearance was 
discovered I at once called a roll of the 
whole establishment, boys, masters, and 
servants. It was then that we ascertained 
that Lord Saltire had not been alone in his 
flight. Heidegger, the German master, was 
missing. His room was on the second floor, 
at the farther end of the building, facing the 
same way as Lord Saltire's. His bed had 
also been slept in ; but he had apparently 
gone away partly dressed, since his shirt and 
socks were lying on the floor. He had 
undoubtedly let himself down by the ivy, for 
we could see the marks of his feet where he 
had landed on the lawn. His bicycle was 
kept in a small shed beside this lawn, and it 
also was gone. 

" He had been with me for two years, and 
came with the best references ; but he was a 
silent, morose man, not very popular either 
with masters or boys. No trace could be 
found of the fugitives, and now on Thursday 
morning we are as ignorant as we were on 
Tuesday. Inquiry was, of course, made at 
once at Holdernesse Hall. It is only a few 
miles away, and we imagined that in some 
sudden attack of home-sickness he had gone 
back to his father ; but nothing had been 
heard of him. The Duke is greatly agitated 
— and as to me, you have seen yourselves 
the state of nervous prostration to which the 
suspense and the responsibility have reduced 
me. Mr. Holmes, if ever you put forward 
your full powers, I implore you to do so 
now, for never in your life could you have 
a case which is more worthy of them." 


Sherlock Holmes had listened with the 
utmost intentness to the statement of the 
unhappy schoolmaster. His drawn brows 
and the deep furrow between them showed 
that he needed no exhortation to concentrate 
all his attention upon a problem which, apart 
from the tremendous interests involved, must 
appeal so directly to his love of the complex 
and the unusual. He now drew out his 
note-book and jotted down one or two 

"You have been very remiss in not 
coming to me sooner," said he, severely, 
" You start me on my investigation with a 
very serious handicap. It is inconceivable, 
for example, that this ivy and this lawn would 
have yielded nothing to an expert observer." 

" I am not to blame, Mr. Holmes. His 
Grace was extremely desirous to avoid all 
public scandal. He was afraid of his family 
unhappiness being dragged before the world. 
He has a deep horror of anything of the 

" But there has been some official inves- 
tigation ? " 

"Yes, sir, and it has proved most dis- 
appointing. An apparent clue was at once 
obtained, since a boy and a young man were 
reported to have been seen leaving a neigh- 
bouring station by an early train. Only last 
night we had news that the couple had been 
hunted down in Liverpool, and they prove 
to have no connection whatever with the 
matter in hand. Then it was that in my 
despair and disappointment, after a sleepless 
night, I came straight to you by the early 

"I suppose the local investigation was 
relaxed while this false clue was being 
followed up?" 

"It was entirely dropped." 

" So that three days have been wasted. 
The affair has been most deplorably 

"I feel it, and admit it." 

"And yet the problem should be capable 
of ultimate solution. I shall be very happy 
to look into it. Have you been able to 
trace any connection between the missing 
boy and this German master?" 

"None at all." 

" Was he in the master's class ? " 

" No ; he never exchanged a word with 
him so far as I know." 

" That is certainly very singular. Had the 
bov a bicycle ? " 


" Was any other bicycle missing ? " 

"No." Q rj 




"Is that certain?" 


(i Wellj aow, you do not mean to seriously 
suggest that this German rode off upon a 
bicycle in the dead of the night bearing the 
boy in his arms ? " 

" Certainly not" 

" Then what is the theory in your mind ? " 

" The bicycle may have been a blind. It 
may have been hidden somewhere and the 
pair gone off on foot." 

" Quite so; but it seems rather an absurd 
blind, does it not ? Were there other 
bicycles in this shed ? n 


"Would he not have hidden a couple had 
he desired to give the idea that they had 
gone off upon them ? " 

" 1 suppose he would/ 3 

"Of course he would. The blind theory 
won't do. But the incident is an admirable 
starting-point for an investigation. After all, 
a bicycle is not an easy thing to conceal or 
to destroy. One 
other question. 
Did anyone call 
to see the boy 
on the day be- 
fore he dis- 
appeared ? " 


"Did he get 
any letters ? " 

"Yes; one 
"From whom?" 
" F r o m li i S 

" Do you open 
the bo>V letters?" 

" No." 

" How do you 
know it was from 
the father ? " 

"The coat of 
arms was on the 
envelope, and it 
was addressed in 
the Duke's pecu- 
liar stiff hand, 
Besides, the 
Duke remembers 
having written," 

"When had he a letter before that ? w 

"Not for several days.* 

" Had he ever one from France ? " 

" No ■ ; never." 

"You see the point of my questions, of 
course. Either the boy was carried off by 

Digitized by Lt* 

force or he went of his own free will. In 
the latter case you would expect that some 
prompting from outside would be needed to 
make so young a lad do such a thing. If he 
has had no visitors, that prompting must 
have come in letters. Hence I try to find 
out who were his correspondents.' ' 

" I fear I cannot help you much. His only 
correspondent, so far as I know, was his own 

" Who wrote to him on the very day 
of his disappearance. Were the relations 
between father and son very friendly ? " 

"His Grace is never very friendly with any- 
one. He is completely immersed in large 
public questions, and is rather inacces- 
sible to all ordinary emotions. Rut he 
was always kind to the boy m his own 

" Rut the sympathies of the latter were 
with the mother ? " 

" Yes." 

" Did he say so ? " 


" No." 

" The Duke, then ? " 
" Good heavens, no ! " 
" Then how could you know ? M 
" I have had some confidential talks with 
Mr. James Wilder, his Grace's secretary. 





It was he who gave me the information 
about Lord Saltire's feelings." 

"I see. By the way, that last letter of 
the Duke's — was it found in the boy's room 
after he was gone ? " 

I " No ; he had taken it with him. I think, 
Mr. Holmes, it is time that we were leaving for 

" I will order a four-wheeler. In a quarter 
of an hour we shall be at your service. If 
you are telegraphing home, Mr. Huxtable, 
it would be well to allow the people in your 
neighbourhood to imagine that the inquiry is 
still going on in Liverpool, or wherever else 
that red herring led your pack. In the mean- 
time I will do a little quiet work at your own 
doors, and perhaps the scent is not so cold but 
that two old hounds like Watson and myself 
may get a sniff of it." 

That evening found us in the cold, bracing 
atmosphere of the Peak country, in which 
Dr. Huxtable's famous school is situated. 
It was already dark when we reached it. A 
card was lying on the hall table, and the 
butler whispered something to his master, 
who turned to us with agitation in every 
heavy feature. 

"The Duke is here," said he.' "The 
Duke and Mr. Wilder are in the study. 
Come, gentlemen, and I will introduce 

I was, of course, familiar with the pictures 
of the famous statesman, but the man him- 
self was very different from his representation. 
He was a tall and stately person, scrupulously 
dressed, with a drawn, thin face, and a nose 
which was grotesquely curved and long. His 
complexion was of a dead pallor, which was 
more startling by contrast with a long, 
dwindling beard of vivid red, which flowed 
down over his white waistcoat, with his 
watch-chain gleaming through its fringe. 
Such was the stately presence who looked 
stonily at us from the centre of Dr. Hux- 
table's hearthrug. Beside him stood a very 
young man, whom I understood to be 
Wilder, the private secretary. He was small, 
nervous/alert, with intelligent, light-blue eyes 
and mobile features. It was he who at once, 
in an incisive and positive tone, opened the 

" I called this morning, Dr. Huxtable, too 
late to prevent you from starting for London. 
I learned that your object was to invite Mr. 
Sherlock Holmes to undertake the conduct 
of this case. His Grace is surprised, Dr. 
Huxtable, that you should have taken such a 
step without consulting him." 

Digitized by dOOgle 

" When I learned that the police had 
failed " 

" His Grace is by no means convinced 
that the police have failed." 

" But surely, Mr. Wilder " 

" You are well aware, Dr. Huxtable, that 
his Grace is particularly anxious to avoid all 
public scandal He prefers to take as few 
people as possible into his confidence." 

" The matter can be easily remedied," said 
the brow-beaten doctor ; " Mr. Sherlock 
Holmes can return to London by the morning 

"Hardly that, doctor, hardly that," said 
Holmes, in his blandest voice. "This 
northern air is invigorating and pleasatrf,"so 
I propose to spend a few days upon your 
moors, and to occupy my mind as best I 
may. Whether I have the shelter of your 
roof or of the village inn is, of course, for 
you to decide." 

I could see that the unfortunate doctor was 
in the last stage of indecision, from which he 
was rescued by the deep, sonorous voice of 
the red-bearded Duke, which boomed out 
like a dinner-gong. 

" I agree with Mr. Wilder, Dr. Huxtable, 
that you would have done wisely to consult 
me. But since Mr. Holmes has already been 
taken into your confidence, it would indeed 
be absurd that we should not avail ourselves 
of his services. Far from going to the inn, 
Mr. Holmes, I should be pleased if you would 
come and stay with me at Holdernesse Hall." 

" I thank your Grace. For the purposes 
of my investigation I think that it would be 
wiser for me to remain at the scene of the 

"Just as you like, Mr. Holmes. Any 
information which Mr. Wilder or I can give 
you is, of course, at your disposal." 

" It will probably be necessary for me to 
see you at the Hall," said Holmes. " I 
would only ask you now, sir, whether you 
have formed any explanation in your own 
mind as to the mysterious disappearance of 
your son ? " 

" No, sir, I have not." 

" Excuse me if I allude to that which is 
painful to you, but I have no alternative. 
Do you think that the Duchess had anything 
to do with the matter ? " 

The great Minister showed perceptible 

" I do not think so," he said, at last. 

" The other most obvious explanation is 
that the child has been kidnapped for the 
purpose of levying ransom. You have not 
had any demand of the sort ? " 




w No, sir." 

" One more question, your Grace, I 
understand that you wrote to your son upon 
the day when this incident occurred w 

(i No ; I wrote upon the day before." 

« Exactly. But 
he received it oil 
that dav ? " 

" Yes." 

"Was there 
anything in your 
letter which 
n light have un- 
balanced him or 
induced him to 
take such a 
step ? " 

" No T sir, cer- 
tainly not" 

11 Did you 
post that letter 
ynui>i-lf? " 

The noble- 
man's reply was 
interrupted by 
his secretary, 
who broke in 
with some heat. 

" His Grace is 
not in the habit 
of posting letters 
himself," said he. 
"This letter was 
laid with others 
upon the study 
table, and I my- 
self put them in 
the post-bag." 

" Y o u are 
sure this one was among 

" Yes ; I observed it." 

" How many letters did your Grace write 
that day?" 

" Twenty or thirty. I have a large corre- 
spondence. But surely this is somewhat 
irrelevant ? " 

" Not entirely," said Holmes. 

" For my own part," the Duke continued, 
" I have advised the police to turn their atten- 
tion to the South of France, I have already 
said that I do not believe that the Duchess 
would encourage so monstrous an action, but 
the lad had the most wrong-headed opinions, 
and it is possible that he may have fled to 
her, aided and abetted by this German. I 
think, Dr. Huxtable, that we will now return 
to the Hall." 

I could see that there were other questions 
which Holmes would have wished to put ; 


them ? " 

by GGOgk 

but the nobleman's abrupt manner showed 
that the interview was at an end. It was 
evident that to his intensely aristocratic 
nature this discussion of his intimate family 
affairs with a stranger was most abhorrent, 

and that he 
feared lest every 
fresh question 
would throw a 
fiercer light into 
the discreetly 
shadowed cor- 
ners of his ducal 

When the 
nobleman and 
his secretary had 
left, my friend 
flung himself at 
once with charac- 
teristic eagerness 
into the investi- 

T he boy's 
chamber was 
carefully exam- 
ined, and yielded 
nothing save the 
absolute convic- 
tion that it wan 
only through the 
window that he 
could have es- 
caped* The 
German masters 
room and effects 
gave no further 
clue. In his 
case a trailer of 
ivy had given way under his weight* and we 
saw by the light of a lantern the mark on 
the lawn where his heels had come down. 
That one dint in the short green grass was 
the only material witness left of this in- 
explicable nocturnal flight. 

Sherlock Holmes left the house alone, and 
only returned after eleven. He had obtained 
a large ordnance map of the neighbourhood, 
and this he brought into my room, where he 
laid it out on the bed, and, having balanced 
the lamp in the middle of it, he began to smoke 
over it, and occasionally lo point out objects 
of interest with the reeking amber of his pipe. 
"This case grows upon me, Watson," said 
he, li There are decidedly some points of 
interest in connection with it. In this early 
stage I want you to realize those geographical 
features which may have a good deal to do 
with our investigation, 

Original from 




" Look at this map. This dark square is 
the Priory School. I'll put a pin in it. 
Now, this line is the main road. You see 
that it runs east and west past the school, 
and you see also that there is no side road 
for a mile either way. If these two folk 
passed away by road it was this road." 


" By a singular and happy chance we are 
able to some extent to check what passed 
along this road during the night in question. 
At this point, where my pipe is now resting, 
a country constable was on duty from twelve 
to six. It is, as you perceive, the first cross 
road on the east side. This man declares 
that he was not absent from his post for an 
instant, and he is positive that nether boy 
nor man could have gone that way unseen. 
I have spoken with this policeman to-night, 
and he appears to me to be a perfectly 
reliable person. That blocks this end. We 
have now to deal with the other. There is 
an inn here, the Red Bull, the landlady 
of which was ill. She had sent to Mackleton 
for a doctor, but he did not arrive until 
morning, being absent at another case. The 
people at the inn were alert all night, await- 
ing his coming, and one or other of them 
seems to have continually had an eye upon 
the road. They declare that no one passed. If 
their evidence is good, then we are fortunate 
enough to be able to block the west, and also 
to be able to say that the fugitives did not use 
the road at all." 

" But the bicycle ? " I objected. 

" Quite so. We will come to the bicycle 
presently. To continue our reasoning : if 
these people did not go by the road, they 
must have traversed the country to the north 
of the house or to the south of the house. 
That is certain. Let us weigh the one against 
the other. On the south of the house is, as 
you perceive, a large district of arable land, 
cut up into small fields, with stone walls 
between them. There, I admit that a 
bicycle is impossible. We can dismiss 
the idea. We turn to the country on the 
north. Here there lies a grove of trees, 
marked as the ' Ragged Shaw,' and on the 
farther side stretches a great rolling moor, 
Lower Gill Moor, extending for ten miles 
and sloping gradually upwards. Here, at one 
side of this wilderness, is Holdernesse Hall, 
ten miles by road, but only six across the 
moor. It is a peculiarly desolate plain. A 
few moor farmers have small holdings, where 
they rear sheep and cattle. Except these, 
the plover and the curlew are the only in- 
habitants until you come to the Chesterfield 

high road. There is a church there, you see, 
a few cottages, and an inn. ' Beyond that the 
hills become precipitous. Surely it is here 
to the north that our quest must lie." 

" But the bicycle ? " I persisted. 

"Well, well!" said Holmes, impatiently. 
" A good cyclist does net need a high road. 
The moor is intersected with paths and the 
moon was at the full. Halloa! what is 

There was an agitated knock at the door, 
and an instant afterwards Dr. Huxtable was 
in the room. In his hand he held a blue 
cricket - cap, with a white chevron on the 

" At last we have a clue ! " he cried. 
" Thank Heaven ! at last we are on the dear 
boy's track ! It is his cap." 

" Where was it found ? " 

"In the van of the gipsies who camped on 
the moor. They left on Tuesday. To-day 
the police traced them down and examined 
their caravan. This was found." 

" How do they account for it ? " 

"They shuffled and lied — said that they 
found it on the moor on Tuesday morning. 
They know where he is, the rascals ! Thank 
goodness, they are all safe under lock and 
key. Either the fear of the law or the 
Duke's purse will certainly get out of them 
all that they know." 

" So far, so good," said Holmes, when the 
doctor had at last left the room. " It at 
least bears out the theory that it is on the 
side of the Lower Gill Moor that we must 
hope for results. The police have really 
done nothing locally, save the arrest of 
these gipsies. Look here, Watson ! There 
is a watercourse across the moor. You see it 
marked here in the map. In some parts it 
widens into a morass. This is particularly 
so in the region between Holdernesse Hall 
and the school. It is vain to look elsewhere 
for tracks in this dry weather ; but at that 
point there is certainly a chance of some 
record being left. I will call you early 
to-morrow morning, and you and I will try 
if we can throw some little light upon the 

The day was just breaking when I woke to 
find the long, thin form of Holmes by my 
bedside. He was fully dressed, and had 
apparently already been out. 

" I have done the lawn and the bicycle 
shed," said he. " I have also had a ramble 
through the Ragged Shaw. Now, Watson, 
there is cocoa ready in the next room. I 
must beg you to hurry, for we have a great 
day before us." 









Jkji A->J o QfiJGMj 

CmcUU CruJ&i 7&U.H. UfiTb$tt 


His eyes shone, and Ijis cheek was flushed 
with the exhilaration of the master workman 
who sees his work lie ready before him. A 
very different Holmes, this active, alert man, 
from the introspective and pallid dreamer 
of Baker Street. I felt, as I looked upon 
that supple figure, alive with nervous energy, 
that it was indeed a strenuous day that 
awaited us. 

And yet it opened in the blackest dis- 
appointment. With high hopes we struck 
across the peaty, russet moor, intersected with 
a thousand sheep paths, until we came to the 
broad, light-green belt which marked the 
morass between us and Holdernesse. Cer- 
tainly, if the lad had gone homewards, he 
must have passed this, and he could not pass 
it without leaving his traces. But no sign of 
him or the German could be seen. With a 
darkening face my friend strode along the 
margin, eagerly observant of every muddy 
stain upon the mossy surface. Sheep-marks 
there were in profusion, and at one place, 
some miles down, cows had left their tracks. 
Nothing more. 

"Check number one,'' said Holmes, look- 
ing gloomily over the rolling expanse of the 

moor. " There is another 
morass down yonder and a 
narrow neck between. 
Halloa ! halloa ! halloa ! 
what have we here?" 

We had come on a small 
black ribbon of pathway. 
In the middle of it, clearly 
marked on the sodden soil, 
was the track of a bicycle. 

"Hurrah!" I cried "We 
have it." 

But Holmes was shaking 
his head, and his face was 
puzzled and expectant rather 
than joyous. 

" A bicycle certainly, but 
not the bicycle," said he. 
" I am familiar with forty- 
two different impressions 
left by tyres. This, as you 
perceive, is a Dunlop, with 
a patch upon the outer 
cover. Heidegger's tyres 
were Palmers, leaving lon- 
gitudinal stripes. Aveling, 
the mathematical master, 
was sure upon the point. 
Therefore, it is not 

Heidegger's track." 

"The boy's, then?" 
"Possibly, if we could 
prove a bicycle to have been in his posses- 
sion. But this we have utterly failed to do. 
This track, as you perceive, was made by 
a rider who was going from the direction of 
the school." 

"Or towards it?" 

" No, no, my dear Watson. The more 
deeply sunk impression is, of course, the 
hind wheel, upon which the weight rests. 
You perceive several places where it has 
passed across and obliterated the more 
shallow mark of the front one. It was 
undoubtedly heading away from the school. 
It may .or may not be connected with our 
inquiry, but we will follow it backwards 
before we go any farther." 

We did so, and at the end of a few hun- 
dred yards lost the tracks as we emerged 
from the boggy portion of the moor. Follow- 
ing the path backwards, we picked out 
another spot, where a spring trickled across 
it. Here, once again, was the mark of the 
bicycle, though nearly obliterated by the 
hoofs of cows. After that there was no sign, 
but the path ran right on into Ragged Shaw, 
the wood which backed on to the school. 
From this wqo^ the cycle must have 



emerged. Holmes sat down on a boulder 
and rested his chin in his hands, I had 
smoked ^wo cigarettes before he moved, 

"Well, well," said he, at last. t4 It is, of 
course, possible that a cunning man might 
change the tyre of his bicycle in order to 
leave unfamiliar tracks. A criminal who was 
capable of such a thought is a man whom I 
should be proud to do business with. We 
will leave this question undecided and hark 
back to our morass again, for we have left a 
good deal unexplored." 

We continued our systematic survey of 
the edge of the sodden portion of the 
moor, and soon our perseverance was 
gloriously rewarded. Right across the lower 
part of the bog lay a miry path. Holmes 
gave a cry of delight as he approached it. 
An impression like a fine bundle of telegraph 
wires ran down the centre of it It was the 
Palmer tyre, 



w Here is Herr Heidegger, sure enough ! " 
cried Holmes* exultantly. " My reasoning 
seems to have been pretty sound, Watson," 
" I congratulate you." 
" But we have a long way still to go. 
Kindly walk clear of the path. Now let us 
follow the trail, I fear that it will not lead 
very far." 

We found, however, as we advanced that 
this portion of the moor is intersected with 
soft patches, and, though we frequently lost 
sight of the track, we always succeeded in 
picking it up once more. 

i£ Do you observe/' said Holmes, i! that 
the rider is now undoubtedly forcing the 
pace ? There can be no doubt of it, Look 
at this impression, where you get both tyres 
clear. The one is as deep as the other. 
That can only mean that the rider is throw- 
ing his weight on £0 the handle-bar, as a man 
does when he is sprinting. By Jove ! he has 
had a ML" 

There was a broad, 
irregular smudge covering 
some yards of the track. 
Then there were a few 
footmarks, and the tyre re- 
appeared once more, 

"A side-slip," I suggested, 
Holmes held up a 
crumpled branch of flowering 
gorse. To my horror I per- 
ceived that the yellow blos- 
som?" were all dabbled with 
crimson. On the path, too, 
and among the heather were 
dark stains of clotted blood. 
"Bad!" said Holmes, 
11 Bad ! Stand clear, Watson ! 
Not an unnecessary footstep I 
What do I read here? He fell 
wounded, he stood up, he re- 
mounted, he proceeded. But there 
is no other track. Cattle on this 
side path. He was surely not 
by a bull ? Impossible ! But 
I sec n<> traces of anyone else. We 
must push on, Watson. Surely with 
stains as well as the track to guide 
us he cannot escape us now/' 

Our search was not a very long one. The 
tracks of the tyre began to curve fantastically 
upon the wet and shining path. Suddenly, 
as I looked ahead, the gleam of metal caught 
my eye from amid the thick gorse bushes. 
Out of them we dragged a bicycle, Palmer- 
tyred, one pedal bent, and the whole front of 
it horribly smeared and slobbered with blood. 
On the other side of the bushes a sjioe was 




projecting. We ran round, and there lay the 
unfortunate rider He was a tall man, full 
bearded, with spectacles, one glass of which 
had been knocked out. The cause of his 
death was a frightful blow upon the head, 

the police of the discovery, and to see that 
this poor fellow's body is looked after." 
u I could take a note back." 
u But I need your company and assistance* 
Wait a bit ! There is a fellow cutting peat 

up yonder. Bring 
him over here, and 
he will guide the 

I brought the 
peasant across, and 
Holmes dispatched 
the frightened man 
with a note to Dr. 

** Now, Watson," 
said he, "we have 
picked up two 
clues this morning. 
One is the bicycle 
with the Palmer 


which had crushed in part of his skull. That 
he could have gone on after receiving such 
an injury said much for the vitality and 
courage of the man. He wore shoes, but 
no socks, and his open coat disclosed a 
night-shirt beneath it, It was undoubtedly 
the German master. 

Holmes turned the body over reverently, 
and examined it with great attention. He 
then sat in deep thought for a time, and I 
could see by his ruffled brow that this grim 
discovery had not, in his opinion, advanced 
us much in our inquiry. 

* v It is a little difficult to know what to do, 
Watson/' said he, at last. ** My own inclina- 
tions are to push this inquiry on, for we 
have already lost so much time that we 
cannot afford to waste another hour* On 
the other hand, we arc bound lo inform 

tyre, and we see 
what that has led 
to. The other is 
the bicycle with 
the patched Dun- 
lop. Before we 
start to investigate 
that, let us try to realize 
hat we do know so as 
make the most of it, 
md to separate the 
sential from the 

irst of all I wish to im- 
press upon you that the boy 
certainly left of his own free 
will He got down from his 
window and he went ofl", 
either alone or with some- 
one. That is sure/' 
I assented* 

** Well, now, let us turn to this unfortunate 
German master. The boy was fully dressed 
when he fled, Therefore, he foresaw what 
he would do. But the German went without 
his socks. He certainly acted on very short 

" Undoubtedly/' 

u Why did he go? Because, from bis bed- 
room window, he saw the flight of the boy* 
Because he wished to overtake him and 
bring him back. He seized his bicycle, 
pursued the lad, and in pursuing him met 
his death." 

"So it would seem/' 

" Now I come to the critical part of my 
argument. ...The natural action of a man in 
pursuing oMRKMf 1 tJoV^Buld be tp run aftyr 





him. He would know that he could over- 
take him. But the German does not do so. 
He turns to his bicycle. I am told that 
he was an excellent cyclist. He would not 
do this if he did not see that the boy had 
some swift means of escape." 

11 The other bicycle." 

" Let us continue our reconstruction. He 
meets his death five miles from the school — 
not by a bullet, mark you, which even a lad 
might conceivably discharge, but by a savage 
blow dealt by a vigorous arm. The lad, 
then, had a companion in his flight. And 
the flight was a swift one, since it took five 
miles before an expert cyclist could overtake 
them. Yet we survey the ground round the 
scene of. the tragedy. What do we find ? 
A few cattle tracks, nothing more. I took 
a wide sweep round, and there is no path 
within fifty yards. Another cyclist could 
have had nothing to do with the actual 
murder. Nor were there any human foot- 

" Holmes," I cried, " this is impossible." 

"Admirable ! " he said. " A most illumin- 
ating remark. It is impossible as I state it, 
and therefore I must in some respect have 
stated it ..wrong. Yet you saw for yourself. 
Can you suggest any fallacy ? " 

14 He could not have fractured his skull in 
a fall?" 

" In a morass, Watson ? " 

" I am at my wits' end." 

" Tut, tut ; we have solved some worse 
problems. At least we have plenty of mate- 
rial, if we can only use it. Come, then, and, 
having exhausted the Palmer, let us see what 
the Dunlop with the patched cover has to 
offer us." 

We picked up the track and followed it 
onwards for some distance ; but soon the 
moor rose into a long, heather-tufted curve, 
and we left the watercourse behind us. No 
further help from tracks could be hoped for. 
At the spot where we saw the last of the 
Dunlop tyre it might equally have led to 
Holdernesse Hall, the stately towers of which 
rose some miles to our left, or to a low, grey 
village which lay in front of us, and marked 
the position of the Chesterfield high road. 

As we approached the forbidding and 
squalid inn, with the sign of a game-cock 
above the door, Holmes gave a sudden groan 
and clutched me by the shoulder to save 
himself from falling. He had had one of 
those violent strains of the ankle which leave 
a man helpless. With difficulty he limped 
up to the door, where a squat, dark, elderly 
man was smoking a black clay pipe. 

" How are you, Mr. Reuben Hayes ? " said 

"Who are you, and how do you get my 
name so pat?" the countryman answered, 
with a suspicious flash of a pair of cunning 

"Well, it's printed on the board above 
your head. It's easy to see a man who is 
master of his own house. I suppose you 
haven't such a thing as a carriage in your 

" No ; I have not." 

" I can hardly put my foot to the ground." 

"Don't put it to the ground." 

" But I can't walk." 

" Well, then, hop." 

Mr. Reuben Hayes's manner was far from 
gracious, but Holmes took it with admirable 

" Look here, my man," said he. " This is 
really rather an awkward fix for me. I don't 
mind how I get on." 

" Neither do I," said the morose landlord. 

" The matter is very important. I would 
offer you a sovereign for the use of a bicycle." 

The landlord pricked up his ears. 

" Where do you want to go ? " 

" To Holdernesse Hall." 

"Pals of the Dook, I suppose?" said the 
landlord, surveying our mud-stained garments 
with ironical eyes. 

Holmes laughed good-naturedly. 

" He'll be glad to see us, anyhow." 


" Because we bring him news of his lost 

The landlord gave a very visible start. 

" What, you're on his track ? " 

" He has been heard of in Liverpool. 
They expect to get him every hour." 

Again a swift change passed over the 
heavy, unshaven face. His manner was 
suddenly genial. 

" I've less reason to wish the Dook well 
than most men," said he, " for I was his head 
coachman once, and cruel bad he treated 
me. It was him that sacked me without a 
character on the word of a lying corn- 
chandler. But I'm glad to hear that the 
young lord was heard of in Liverpool, and 
I'll help you to take the news to the Hall." 

" Thank you," said Holmes. " We'll have 
some food first. Then you can bring round 
the bicycle." 

" I haven't got a bicycle." 

Holmes held up a sovereign. 

" I tell you, man, that I haven't got one. 
I'll let you have two horses as far as the 





"Well, well,* said Holmes, "well talk 
about it when we've bad something to eat." 

When we were left alone in the stone 
flagged kitchen it was astonishing how rapidly 
that sprained ankle recovered. It was nearly 
nightfall, and we had eaten nothing since 
early morning, so that we spent some time 
over our meal Holmes was lost in thought, 
and once or twice he walked over to the 
window and stared earnestly out. It opened 
on to a squalid courtyard. In the far comer 
was a smithy, where a grimy lad was at work* 
On the other side were the stables, Holmes 
had sat down again after one of these ex- 
cursions, when he suddenly sprang out of his 
chair with a loud exclamation. 

u By Heaven, Watson, I believe that I've 
got it ! " he cried, " Yes, yes, it must be so. 
\ Vat son, do you remember seeing any cow- 
tracks to^ 7 ?» jni|i7W 


" Yes, several" 

** Well, everywhere, 
They were at the morass, 
and again on the path, and 
again near where pooi 
Heidegger met his death," 
" Exactly- Well, now, 
Watson, how many cows 
did you see on the moor ? " 
" I don't remember see- 
ing any." 

"Strange, Watson, that 
we should see tracks all 
along our !ine, but never 
a cow on the whole moor ; 
very strange, Watson, eh?" 
u Yes, it is strange/' 
11 Now, Watson, make an effort ; 
throw your mind back ! Can you 
see those tracks upon the path ? "' 
"Yes, I can." 

"Can you recall that the tracks 
were sometimes like that, Watson" 
— he arranged a number of bread 
crumbs in this fashion—: : : : : 
"and sometimes like this " — 
:-:*:-:- — "and occasionally 
hke this"— .•.'.■. "Can 
you remember that?" 
"No, I cannot" 

"But I can, I could swear to 

it. However, we will go back 

at our leisure and verify it. What 

a blind beetle I have been not to draw 

mv conclusion ' " 

" And what is your conclusion?" 
"Only that it is a remarkable cow 
which walks, canters, and gallops, By 
George, Watson, it was no brain of a country 
publican that thought out such a blind as 
that ! The coast seems to be clear, save for 
that lad in the smithy Let us slip out and 
see what we can see," 

There were two rough -haired, unkempt 
horses in the tumble-down stable. Holmes 
raised the hind leg of one of them and 
laughed aloud 

" Old shoes, but newly shod— old shoes, 
but new nails. This case deserves to be a 
classic. Let us go across to the smithy," 

The lad continued his work without regard- 
ing us. I saw Holmes's eye darting to right 
and left among the litter of iron and 
wood which was scattered about the floor. 
Suddenly, however, we heard a step behind 
us, and there was the landlord, his heavy 
eyebrows dra^n down .over his savage eyes, 
his swarthy features convulsed with passion* 





He held a short, metal-headed stick in his 
hand, and he advanced in so menacing a 
fashion that I was right glad to feel the 
revolver in my pocket. 

" You infernal spies ! " the man cried. 
"What are you doing there?" 

"Why, Mr. Reuben Hayes," said Holmes, 
coolly, " one might think that you were afraid 
of our finding something out." 

The man mastered himself with a violent 
effort, and his grim mouth loosened into a 
false laugh, which was more menacing than 
his frown. 

" You're welcome to all you can find out 
in my smithy," said he. " But look here, 
mister, I don't care for folk poking about 
my place without my leave, so the sooner you 
pay your score and get out of this the better 
I shall be pleased." 

" All right, Mr. Hayes — no harm meant," 
said Holmes. " We have been having a look 
at your horses, but I think I'll walk after all. 
It's not far, I believe." 

" Not more than two miles to the Hall gates. 
That's the road to the left." He watched 
us with sullen eyes until we had left his 

We did not go very far along the road, for 
Holmes stopped the instant that the curve 
hid us from the landlord's view. 

"We were warm, as the children say, at 
that inn," said he. " I seem to grow colder 
every step that I take away from it. No, no; 
I can't possibly leave it." 

"I am convinced," said I, "that this 
Reuben Hayes knows all about it. A more 
self-evident villain I never saw." 

" Oh ! he impressed you in that way, did 
he? There are the horses, there is the 
smithy. Yes, it is an interesting place, this 
Fighting Cock. I think we shall have 
another look at it in an unobtrusive 

A long, sloping hillside, dotted with grey 
limestone boulders, stretched behind us. 
We had turned off the road, and were 
making our way up the hill, when, looking 
in the direction of Holdernesse Hall, I saw 
a cyclist coming swiftly along. 

"Get down, Watson !" cried Holmes, with 
a heavy hand upon my shoulder. We had 
hardly sunk from view when the man flew 
past us on the road. Amid a rolling cloud 
of dust I caught a glimpse of a pale, agitated 
face — a face with horror in every lineament, 
the mouth open, the eyes staring wildly in 
front It was like some strange caricature 
of the dapper James Wilder " whom we had 
seen the night before. 

" The Duke's secretary ! " cried Holmes. 
" Come, Watson, let us see what he does." 

We scrambled from rock to rock until in 
a few moments we had made our way to a 
point from which we could see the front door 
of the inn. Wilder's bicycle was leaning 
against the wall beside it. No one was mov- 
ing about the house, nor could we catch a 
glimpse of any faces at the windows. Slowly 
the twilight crept down as the sun sank 
behind the high towers of Holdernesse Hall. 
Then in the gloom we saw the two side- 
lamps of a trap light up in the stable yard of 
the inn, and shortly afterwards heard the 
rattle of hoofs, as it wheeled out into the 
road and tore off at a furious pace in the 
direction of Chesterfield. 

" What do you make of that, Watson ? " 
Holmes whispered. 

" It looks like a flight." 

"A single man in a dog-cart, so far as I 
could see. Well, it certainly was not Mr. 
James Wilder, for there he is at the 

A red square of light had sprung out 
of the darkness. In the middle of it was 
the black figure of the secretary, his head 
advanced, peering out into the night. It 
was evident that he was expecting someone. 
Then at last there were steps in the road, a 
second figure was visible for an instant 
against the light, the door shut, and all was 
black once more. Five minutes later a 
lamp was lit in a room upon the first 

" It seems to be a curious class of custom 
that is done by the Fighting Cock," said 

" The bar is on the other side." 

" Quite so. These are what one may call 
the private guests. Now, what in the world 
is Mr. James Wilder doing in that den at 
this hour of night, and who is the companion 
who comes to meet him there ? Come, 
Watson, we must really take a risk and try 
to investigate this a little more closely." 

Together we stole down to the road and 
crept across to the door of the inn. The 
bicycle still leaned against the wall. Holmes 
struck a match and held it to the back wheel, 
and I heard him chuckle as the light fell 
upon a patched Dunlop tyre. Up above us 
was the lighted window. 

" I must have a peep through that, Watson. 
If you bend your back and support yourself 
upon the wall, I think that I can manage." 

An instant later his feet were on my 
shouldei^ But he was hardly up before he 
was down" atain, 





"Come, my friend," said he, "our day's 
work has been quite long enough. I think 
that we have gathered all that we ran. It's a 
long walk to the school, and the sooner we 
get started the better," 

He hardly opened his lips during that 
weary trudge across the moor, nor would he 
enter the school when he reached it, hut 
went on to Mackletoii Station, whence he 
rould send some telegrams. I^te at night 
I heard him consoling Dr. Huxtahle, 
prostrated by the tragedy of his masters 
death j and later still he entered my room as 
alert and vigorous as he had been when 
he started in the morning- " AH goes well, 
my friend," said he, " I promise that before 
to-morrow evening we shall have reached the 
solution of the mystery." 

At eleven o'clock next morning my friend 

and I were walking up 
the famous yew avenue 
of Holdernesse Hall. Wo 
were ushered through the 
magnificent Elizabethan 
doorway and into his 
G race's study* There we 
found Mr. James Wilder, 
demure and courtly, but 
with some trace of that 
wild terror of the night 
before still lurking in his 
furtive eyes and in his 
twitching features, 

"You have come to 
see his Grace ? I am 
sorry ; but the fact is that 
the Duke is far from 
well He has been very 
much upset by the tragic 
news. We received a 
telegram from Dr. Ilux- 
table yesterday afternoon, 
which told us of your 

" I must see the Duke, 
Mr. Wilder." 

"But he is in his 

"Then I must go to his 

"I believe he is in his 

" I will see him there." 
Holmes's cold and in- 
exorable manner showed 
the secretary that it was 
useless to argue with him, 
"Very good, Mr. 
Holmes ; I will tell him that you are here." 

After half an hour's delay the great noble- 
man appeared. His face was more cada- 
verous than ever, his shoulders had rounded, 
and he seemed to me to be an altogether 
older man than he had been the morning 
before, He greeted us with a stately courtesy 
and seated himself at his desk, his red beard 
streaming down on to the table. 
" Well, Mr. Holmes?" said he 
But my friend's eyes were fixed upon the 
secretary, who stood by his master's 

u I think, your Grace, that I could speak 
more freely in Mr, Wilde r's absence." 

The man turned a shade paler and cast a 
malignant glance at Holmes. 
" If your Grace wishes- — 3i 
l( Yes, yes.; .you had better go. Now, Mr, 
Holmes, wMFHIH W% say?" 




My friend waited until the door had closed 
behind the retreating secretary. 

" The fact is, your Grace," said he, " that 
my colleague, Dr. Watson, and myself had 
an assurance from Dr. Huxtable that a 
reward had been offered in this case. I 
should like to have this confirmed from your 
own lips." 

" Certainly, Mr. Holmes." 

" It amounted, if I am correctly informed, 
to five thousand pounds to anyone who will 
tell you where your son is ? " 

" Exactly." 

" And another thousand to the man who 
will name the person or persons who keep 
him in custody ? " 


" Under the latter heading is included, no 
doubt, not only those who may have taken 
him away, but also those who conspire to 
keep him in his present position ? " 

" Yes, yes," cried the Duke, impatiently. 
"If you do your work well, Mr. Sherlock 
Holmes, you will have no reason to complain 
of niggardly treatment" 

My friend rubbed his thin hands together 
with an appearance of avidity which was a 
surprise to me, who knew his frugal tastes. 

" I fancy that I see your Grace's cheque- 
book upon the table," said he. " I should 
be glad if you would make me out a cheque 
for six thousand pounds. It would be as 
well, perhaps, for you to cross it. The 
Capital and Counties Bank, Oxford Street 
branch, are my agents." ■ 

His Grace sat very stern and upright in his 
chair, and looked stonily at my friend. 

" Is this a joke, Mr. Holmes ? It is hardly 
a subject for pleasantry." 

" Not at all, your Grace. I was never more 
earnest in my life." 

" What do you mean, then ? " 

" I mean that I have earned the reward. I 
know where your son is, and I know some, at 
least, of those who are holding him." 

The Duke's beard had turned more aggres- 
sively red than ever against his ghastly white 

" Where is he ? " he gasped. 

" He is, or was last night, at the Fighting 
Cock Inn, about two miles from your park 

The Duke fell back in his chair. 

" And whom do you accuse ? " 

Sherlock Holmes's answer was an astound- 
ing one. He stepped swiftly forward and 
touched the Duke upon the shoulder. 

"I accuse you" said he. "And now, 
your Grace, 111 trouble you for that cheque." 

VoL mWL— 18. 


Never shall I forget the Duke's appear- 
ance as he sprang up and clawed with his 
hands like one who is sinking into an abyss. 
Then, with an extraordinary effort of aristo- 
cratic self-command, he sat down and sank 
his face in his hands. It was some minutes 
before he spoke. 

" How much do you know?" he asked at 
last, without raising his head. 

" I saw you together last night." 

" Does anyone else besides your friend 

" I have spoken to no one." 

The Duke took a pen in his quivering 
fingers and opened his cheque-book. 

"1 shall be as good as my word, Mr. 
Holmes. I am about to write your cheque, 
however unwelcome the information which 
you have gained may be to me. When the 
offer was first made I little thought the turn 
which events might take. • But you and your 
friend are men of discretion, Mr. Holmes ? " 

" I hardly understand your Grace." 

" I must put it plainly, Mr. Holmes. If 
only you two know of this incident, there is 
no reason why it should go any farther. I 
think twelve thousand pounds is the sum 
that I owe you, is it not ? " 

But Holmes smiled and shook his head. 

"I fear, your Grace, that matters can 
hardly be arranged so easily. There is the 
death of this schoolmaster to be accounted 

" But James knew nothing of that. You 
cannot hold him responsible for that. It was 
the work of this brutal ruffian whom he had 
the misfortune to employ." 

" I must take the view, your Grace, that 
when a man embarks upon a crime he is 
morally guilty of any other crime which may 
spring from it." 

"Morally, Mr. Holmes. No doubt you 
are right. But surely not in the eyes of the 
law. A man cannot be condemned for a 
murder at which he was not present, and 
which he loathes and abhors as much as you 
do. The instant that he heard of it he made 
a complete confession to me, so filled was he 
with horror and remorse. He lost not an 
hour in breaking entirely with the murderer. 
Oh, Mr. Holmes, you must save him — you 
must save him ! I tell you that you must 
save him !" The Duke had dropped the last 
attempt at self-command, and was pacing the 
room with a convulsed face and with his 
clenched hands raving in the air. At last he 
mastered himself and sat down once more at 
his desk. " I appreciate your conduct in 
coming here before you spoke to anyone 





else/' said he. "At least we may take 
counsel how far we can minimize this hideous 

"Exactly," said Holmes. " I think, your 
Grace, that this can only be done by absolute 
and complete frankness between us. I am 
disposed to help your Grace to the best of 
my ability; but in order to do so I must 
understand to the last detail how the matter 
stands* I realize that your words applied to 
Mr. James Wilder, and that he is not the 

" No ; the murderer has escaped." 

Sherlock Holmes smiled demurely. 

" Your Grace can hardly have heard of 
any small reputation which I possess, or you 
would not imagine that it is so easy to escape 
me. Mr. Reuben Hayes was arrested at 
Chesterfield on my information at eleven 

by ^OOgle 

o'clock last night, I 
had a telegram 
from the head of the 
local police before I 
left the school this 

The Duke leaned 
back in his chair and 
stared with amaze- 
ment at my friend, 

" You seem to have 
powers that are hardly 
human," said he. " So 
Reuben Hayes is 
taken? I am right 
glad to hear it, if it 
will not react upon 
the fate of James." 
" Your secretary ? " 
"No, sir; my 

It was Holmes's 
turn to look aston- 

" I confess that 
this is entirely new to 
me, your Grace. I 
must beg you to be 
more explicit." 

"I will conceal 
nothing from you. I 
agree with you that 
complete frankness, 
however painful it 
may be to me, is the 
best policy in this 
desperate situation to 
which James's folly 
and jealousy have 
reduced us. When 
I was a very young man, Mr. Holmes, I 
loved with such a love as comes only once 
in a lifetime. I offered the lady marriage, 
but she refused it on the grounds that such 
a match might mar my career. Had she 
lived I would certainly never have married 
anyone else. She died, and left this one 
child, whom for her sake I have cherished 
and cared for. I could not acknowledge the 
paternity to the world ; but I gave him the 
best of educations, and since he came to 
manhood I have kept him near my person. 
He surprised my secret, and has presumed 
ever since upon the claim which he has upon 
me and upon his power of provoking a 
scandal, which would be abhorrent to me. 
His presence had something to do with the 
unhappy issue of my marriage, Above all, 
he hated my young legitimate heir from the 




first with a persistent hatred. You may well 
ask me why, under these circumstances, I 
still kept James under my roof. I answer 
that it was because I could see his mother's 
face in his, and that for her dear sake 
there was no end to my long - suffering. 
All her pretty ways, too — there was not 
one of them which he could not sug- 
gest and bring back to my memory. I 
could not send him away. But 1 feared so 
much Jest he should do Arthur — that is, 
Lord Saltire — a mischief that I dispatched 
him for safety to Dr. Huxtable's school. 

44 James came into contact with this fellow 
Hayes because the man was a tenant of 
mine, and James acted as agent The fellow 
was a rascal from the beginning ; but in 
some extraordinary way James became inti- 
mate with him. He had always a taste for 
low company. When James determined to 
kidnap Lord Saltire it was of this man's 
service that he availed himself. You remember 
that I wrote to Arthur upon that last day. 
Well, James opened the letter and inserted 
a note asking Arthur to meet him in a little 
wood called the Ragged Shaw, which is near 
to the school. He used the Duchess's name, 
and in that way got the boy to come. That 
evening James bicycled over — I am telling 
you what he has himself confessed to me — 
and he told Arthur, whom he met in the 
wood, that his mother longed to see him, 
that she was awaiting him on the moor, and 
that if he would come back into the wood 
at midnight he would find a man with a 
horse, who would take him to her. Poor 
Arthur fell into the trap. He came to the 
appointment and found this fellow Hayes 
with a led pony. Arthur mounted, and 
they set off together. It appears — though 
this James only heard yesterday — that 
they were pursued, that Hayes struck the 
pursuer with his stick, and that the man died 
of his injuries. Hayes brought Arthur to his 
public-house, the Fighting Cock, where he 
was confined in an upper room, under the 
care of Mrs. Hayes, who is a kindly woman, 
but entirely under the control of her brutal 

" Well, Mr. Holmes, that was the state of 
affairs when I first saw you two days ago. I 
had no more idea of the truth than you. You 
will ask me what was James's motive in doing 
such a deed. I answer that there was a great 
deal which was unreasoning and fanatical in 
the hatred which he bore my heir. In his 
view he should himself have been heir of all 
my estates, and he deeply resented those social 
laws which made it impossible. At the same 

Digitized by G( 

time he had a definite motive also. He was 
eager that I should break the entail, and he 
was of opinion that it lay in my power to do 
so. He intended to make a bargain with 
me — to restore Arthur if I would break the 
entail, and so make it possible for the estate 
to be left to him by will. He knew well that 
I should never willingly invoke the aid of the 
police against him. , I say that he would 
have proposed such a bargain to me, but he 
did not actually do so, for events moved too 
quickly for him, and he had not time to # put 
his plans into practice. 

"What brought all his wicked scheme 
to wreck was your discovery of this man 
Heidegger's dead body. James was seized 
with horror at the news. It came to us 
yesterday as we sat together in this study. 
Dr. Huxtable had sent a telegram. James 
was so overwhelmed with grief and agitation 
that my suspicions, which had never been 
entirely absent, rose instantly to a certainty, 
and I taxed him with the deed. He made 
a complete voluntary confession. Then he 
implored me to keep his secret for three days 
longer, so as to give his wretched accomplice 
a chance of saving his guilty life. I yielded 
— as I have always yielded — to his prayers, 
and instantly James hurried off to the 
Fighting Cock to warn Hayes and give 
him the means of flight. I could not 
go there by daylight without provoking 
comment, but as soon as night fell I 
hurried off to see my dear Arthur. I found 
him safe and well, but horrified beyond 
expression by the dreadful deed he had 
witnessed. In deference to my promise, and 
much against my will, I consented to leave 
him there for three days under the charge of 
Mrs. Hayes, since it was evident that it 
was impossible to inform the police where he 
was without telling them also who was the 
murderer, and I could not see how that 
murderer could be punished without ruin to 
my unfortunate James. You asked for frank- 
ness, Mr. Holmes, and I have taken you at 
your word, for I have now told you every- 
thing without an attempt at circumlocution 
or concealment. Do you in your turn be as 
frank with me." 

" I will," said Holmes " In the first place, 
your Grace, I am bound to tell you that you 
have placed yourself in a most serious posi- 
tion in the eyes of the law. You have con- 
doned a felony and you have aided the 
escape of a murderer ; for I cannot doubt 
that any money which was taken by James 
Wilder to aid his accomplice in his flight 
came from your Grace's purse." 

U 1 1 I U I I I _' I I 




The Duke bowed his assent. 

"This is indeed a most serious matter. 
Even more culpable in my opinion, your 
Grace, is your attitude towards your younger 
son. You leave him in this den for three 

44 Under solemn promises " 

"What are promises to such people as 
these ? You have no guarantee that he will 
not be spirited away again. To humour 
your guilty elder son you have exposed your 
innopent younger son to imminent and 
unnecessary danger. It was a most unjustifi- 
able action." 

The proud lord of Holdernesse was not 
accustomed to be so rated in his own ducal 
hall. The blood flushed into his high fore- 
head, but his conscience held him dumb. 

" I will help you, but on one condition 
only. It is that you ring for the footman 
and let me give such orders as I like." 

Without a word the Duke pressed the 
electric bell. A servant entered. 

" You will be glad to hear," said Holmes, 
" that your young master is found. It is the 
Duke's desire that the carriage shall go at 
once to the Fighting Cock Inn to bring 
Lord Saltire home. 

" Now," said Holmes," when the rejoicing 
lackey had disappeared, "having secured 
the future, we can afford to be more lenient 
with the past. I am not in an official posi- 
tion, and there is no reason, so long as the 
ends of justice are served, why I should dis- 
close all that I know. As to Hayes I say 
nothing. The gallows awaits him, and I 
would do nothing to save him from it. What 
he will divulge I cannot tell, but I have no 
doubt that your Grace could make him 
understand that it is to his interest to be silent. 
From the police point of view he will have 
kidnapped the boy for the purpose of ransom. 
If they do not themselves find it out I see 
no reason why I should prompt them to take 
a broader point of view. I would warn your 
Grace, however, that the continued presence 
of Mr. James Wilder in your household can 
only lead to misfortune." 

" I understand that, Mr. Holmes, and it is 
already settled that he shall leave me for 
ever and go to seek his fortune in Australia." 

" In that case, your Grace, since you have 
yourself stated that any unhappiness in your 
married life was caused by his presence, I 
would suggest that you make such amends as 
you can to the Duchess, and that you try to 
resume those relations which have been so 
unhappily interrupted." 

" That also I have arranged, Mr, Holmes. 
I wrote to the Duchess this morning." 

"In that case," said Holmes, rising, "I 
think that my friend and I can congratulate 
ourselves upon several most happy results 
from our little visit to the North. There is 
one other small point upon which I desire 
some light. This fellow Hayes had shod his 
horses with shoes which counterfeited the 
tracks of cows. Was it from Mr. Wilder 
that he learned so extraordinary a device ? " 

The Duke stood in thought for a moment, 
with a look of intense surprise on his face. 
Then he opened a door and showed us into 
a large room furnished as a museum. He 
led the way to a glass case in a corner, and 
pointed to the inscription. 

" These shoes," it ran, " were dug up in the 
moat of Holdernesse Hall. They are for the 
use of horses ; but they are shaped below 
with a cloven foot of iron, so as to throw 
pursuers off the track. They are supposed to 
have belonged to some of the marauding 
Barons of Holdernesse in the Middle 

Holmes opened the case, and moistening 
his finger he passed it along the shoe. A 
thin film of recent mud was left upon his 

" Thank you," said he, as he replaced the 
glass. " It is the second most interesting 
object that I have seen in the North." 

"And the first?" 

Holmes folded up his cheque and placed 
it carefully in his notebook. " I am a poor 
man,"' said he, as he patted it affectionately 
and thrust it into the depths of his inner 

by Google 

Original from 

Voices in ^Parliament. 

By Alex. Grant. 

HE more particular object of 
this article is to describe some 
of the various styles of Par- 
liamentary speakers, and to 
give a pictorial presentment 
of short passages from the 
speeches of members who participate fre- 
quently in the debates, showing the approxi- 
mate pitch and modulation of the voices. 
For the latter purpose nearly two hundred 
different speeches were u sampled" 

Anyone familiar with the theories and 
principles of speech sounds knows that it is 
an impossibility to render accurately the 
multitude of sounds occurring in even a 
short typical passage. Different plans for 
writing speech sounds have been tried with 
varying success. Any system aiming at 
scientific accuracy implies a degree of 
minute analysis which is impracticable in 
an endeavour to procure an estimate of 
the pitch and average inflection of numerous 
voices heard at some distance, and under 
conditions not favourable to close scrutiny. 
In speech a single syllable may traverse 
half an octave, a semitone, or a fraction 
of a semitone, and it may be jerked out 
in separate tones, or undulate in porta- 
mento. There is usually, however, a prime 
sound, which may be more prominent and 
longer sustained than the other sounds that 
go to round off the syllable. With a succession 
of those prime sounds, which, for convenience, 
may be called notes, it is possible to give a 
rough notion (which is all that is claimed 
here) of how a speaker's voice rises and falls 
in the hearing of an ordinary listener. 

Each of the samples represents an average 
bit of speaking. The notes given must not 
be taken literally. If the speaking tone, for 
instance, was somewhere about D, and de- 
scended to somewhere about A, those notes 
D and A would be near enough for the 

purpose of these observations. True musical 
intervals are out of the question, but the 
accompanying diagrams have been written 
on the bass clef in the natural key, this 
being the most simple and direct way of 
showing roughly the variation as between 
different speakers, and the prevailing pitch, as 
nearly as it has been possible to discover 

The natural speaking notes of a man's 
voice vary considerably in different places 
and in different circumstances. A certain 
accomplished cathedral singer who has 
studied this question puts the average pitch 
of preachers' voices at about F sharp in the 
bass clef. He has heard preachers ascend to 
top tenor G and A, descending to C (above 
the bass clef), improbable though it sounds. 
Others he has observed speaking effectively 
from B to F {bass clef), with F as the top 
tone. He himself, with an exceptionally 
deep voice, has in speaking an average pitch 
of low G, with inflections upwards to F 
and downwards to C below the clef. One 
acknowledged authority gives the ordinary 
range of the speaking voice of a man as 
the notes comprised in the bass clef, #>,, G 
to A, B flat to F sharp above the clef being 
occasionally used. Another authority points 
out that a good tone is desired for singing 
within two octaves, whereas, in speaking, an 
audible tone is desired at pitches generally 
within one fifth, and only occasionally 
extending to an octave. Still another 
authority says that the part of a bass voice 
most often brought into requisition will 
consist of the notes D, E, F, G, and in the 
case of a tenor voice of G, A, B, C, the 
dominant note for the bass being E or F, 
and for the tenor A or B. At the same 
time it is admitted by one of those authori- 
ties that great actors have used with best 
effect their lowest notes, i.*., extending 
upward from C below the bass clef. Of 
course, the declamation, of the actor as well 




as that of the clergyman is more favourable 
to a sustained and singing quality of tone 
than ordinary speech. The same is true to 
a certain extent in the case of Parliamentary 

In the House of Commons there is a good 
deal of uniformity in the pitch, which is 
lower than might be expected. The pitch 
of three-quarters of the speaking tones heard 
in the House is within one-third, viz., C to 
E, and the note most frequently used is D. 
Descents to A and G, and even lower, are 
frequent, but seldom do voices rise above 
the top A of the clef. The acoustic pro- 
perties of the chamber and perhaps the 
element of imitation, which, after all, is the 
genesis of speech itself, may account partly 
for the prevailing similarity in pitch. 

A voice often appears to be jumping a 
scale when in reality it is sticking to one or 
two dominant notes. Pronounced accentua- 
tion gives the appearance of inflection, and 
by some people the former is regarded as the 
more important consideration. The singing 
voice in a monotone song or a recitative 
exemplifies the value of emphasis as distinct 
from modulation. 

A notable instance of the power of accen- 
tuation in speaking is the elocution of Mr. 
T. P. O'Connor, whose brilliancy no one may 

7* iMiii.Hiiii(Ht' ilM nmn l \y>)itHiii^ l 

J i iim^u^mt^HM^m^ jnajjsggn : 

deny. He often sinks his voice to an almost 
inaudible whisper, attaining thereby impres- 
siveness, and heightening the effect in the 
following passage, which receives the strength 
of loud tones. Mr. W. O'Brien and Mr. 
T. M. Healy use a similar device, and so do 
other members. It is telling, but apt to be 
overdone, words at the end of a sentence 
being continually lost to some of the 
audience. Mr. O'Connor's voice is seldom 
above or below C and D. Mr. O'Brien 
modulates somewhat more. Both members 


pil^l'^ljl 1 ! 

PI IMM 1 ltM ltt l > f,HMJ tna t i|a « A| 




have good articulation and resonant tones. 
Mr. Healy has a lower and fuller voice than 
either of the other two. He has a very decided 





nil I 

MM' | I|I H 




* HMM l M* ltl *M 


habit of throwing a point at his opponents 
with a big, contemptuous shout. The voice 
often swings into a musical curve when he 
utters something pithy and amusing, carrying 
with it the suggestion of a great laugh. 

Among members whose voices appear to 
be pitched very high, but are in reality not 
so, may be mentioned Mr. R. B. Haldane, 
Sir John Gorst, Mr. Ivor Guest, Mr. 
Sydney Buxton, Mr. Robson, Mr. Scott 
Montagu, and several others. In each 
case the quality is light. Mr. Haldane's 
voice has no great body in it and does 

iT-d|fl|»l A 


i m i mi t . lii ; 


not carry too well. Possibly long practice 
at the courts induces his rapid utterance. 
One who appreciates Mr. Haldane's high 
intellectual level cannot help wishing that 
Nature had endowed him with the tones of 
some other public men, whose intensity is 
rather vocal than intellectual. Sir John 
Gorst has one of the pleasantest voices in the 

i): my. i I j EEEE 


House and perfect articulation, his chief note 
being about F, with falls to C. Mr. Guest 


HH« t |l M 

l» I I1IMM' lllt'Mt % 




repeatedly descends to G. Mr. Sydney 
Buxton speaks often and briefly, but into a 
short space of time he can cram a wonderful 




lot of words, being one of the most rapid 
speakers in the House. The dominant 
note is about C sharp, and the modula- 
tion seldom varies in character, the speech 

it** w A : ii'ii^ \ gntgi : |itii'»nj ■*«n a | i»« a y 

i ^m 


Big ! iti* 


being broken up into short phrases, 
with a downward inflection at the end of 
each. This is a style of speaking charac- 
teristic of a great many members. Mr. 
Robson, one of the most formidable among 


gg : h* 



H M»ni» 1 

the younger men of the Opposition, adds to 
a clever debating power a distinct utterance 
and an earnest, careful style. 

There are few really deep voices in the 
House. Mr. G Fenwick may lay claim to 
the lowest pitch. His strong, vigorous, 



M « 3 ' 

ill •' mm liiiimi.i ) u .. ,i n"l 




ringing style is a good index to the character 
which has raised its owner from work 
in the collieries to a seat in Parliament. 
Added to his excellent voice, which fills 
the House, he has a natural and forcible 
manner of gesture. The dominant note 
is somewhere between lower A and B 
flat. Sir Edgar Vincent also possesses a 
pronounced bass organ, which is musical, 

^"'l.-r''l |' M "lU"'. 

'*' ''■■I'Ml.l ",/! 

resonant, and full of tone, and which would 
be even more effective with added "light 
and shade." Lower G and A occur fre- 


quently in his speech. Sir F. Powell, Sir John 
Brunner, and Sir Samuel Hoare are other 
deep-voiced members. The late Sir William 
Allan's speaking suggested that he was trolling 
out notes impossible to the rest of man- 
kind ; but, though he had a big, rugged, 
splendid voice, in keeping with his hand- 
some stature and leonine head, we find he 
said the many candid things that helped to 
stiffen the back of the Admiralty on an 
average note about D. One good quality of 

jf MMM I mu i M M Hf 1 * ! - ! •%* t|t t» f t» i < 

< M « M «i 

■ ?' H] iiM|iin|iim Wl |,f uii^^ 

his speaking was the prolonged singirfg tone 
which he gave to some syllables. The 
Welsh members, however, display this pecu- 
liarity more than others. 

There are a considerable number of mem- 
bers who vary but little from monotone. 
That is to say, their speech strikes the ear of 
the ordinary listener as running along pretty 
nearly on one tone. As has already been 
pointed out, there are always considerable 
variations on single syllables and even 
on consonants, which are more or less 
perceptible, and which have their own 
due effect in rendering a voice agreeable. 
The existence of a perfect monotone through 
a passage of spoken sounds, vowels and con- 
sonants, in singing or speaking is well-nigh 
impossible. At all events, the beginning and 
the end of a spoken sound, unless that sound 
be a simple vowel, have each a certain twist 
which may often be detected. In many 
voices it is very noticeable. But the volume 
of tone that reaches the ear in a sound 
that is meant to be sustained overwhelms 
the little twist at the beginning or the end, 
and is for all practical purposes one note. 
In singing that is always true. In speaking 
it is true up to a certain point. Some speak- 
ing voices appear to be almost entirely con- 
fined to one tone, because to the auditor it 
is only one dominant note throughout that 
is appreciable. Many members, designedly 
and undesignedly, depart but little from this 
apparent monotone, which is to some extent 
associated with the dignified and solemn 
manner, but may be due in some cases to 
inability to render the delivery responsive to 
the mood. If there is little inflection and no 
accentuation the result is bad. But it does 




lates a good deal, and rejoices in a clear, 
ringing voice of an average pitch. 

Sir William Anson is academical in his 
style, with a rather quiet manner, indulging 

?' B' M |»""|iiiii"» < "i t MM*4 l,WM,> t. ^^ 


' HfrMM it n l 


lation in each case being very distinct 
The late Marquis of Salisbury had a much 
mellower voice than his son Lord Hugh, 
though in later years it weakened very much. 
Some of the Welsh voices in the House 
.come nearest the singing or sustained manner. 
We have a notable instance in the speaking 
of Mr. W. Jones. Mr. Lloyd-George and 
Mr. W. Abraham (Rhondda Valley) display 
a like characteristic. Mr. Jones speaks less 
frequently than the House would desire. 
His Celtic spirit and cultivated intellect find 

in little variation of any sort, and delighting 
in a precise, neatly-rounded sentence. Mr. 
Keir Hardie is chiefly concerned in saying 
what he has got to say in an earnest, deter- 
mined sort of manner. He has a good 
voice, which he never forces. One pecu- 
liarity, which characterizes other speakers 
also, is the habit of running on with half-a- 
dozen words, then dropping the voice both 



9: n'., I'iwB EE 

rc » m 1 




't i |J EG 



1 Tll-iH 

mum mm 

jf > »w wi M l ^ l u i ^l i^ |\ ii m l i|'' i» |liM i i ^n fm^aa tWtj 

expression in a voice which can go direct to 
the hearts of his audience. Hear him speak 

_______ for the Penrhyn miners or champion Welsh 

l wlm.liui.iiu* M |iniii£ ^ nationality and institutions, and you hear the 
1 "I * 1 ^^ true orator, the man who, with his own soul 

moved, can move and persuade others. His 
voice seems to sing in a soft musical 
cadence, the manner being at the same time 
earnest, impassioned, and intense. Every 
syllable reaches his hearers. He roams over 
many notes, constantly covering an octave, 
and giving true inflection to every mood, to 
the accompaniment of natural and eloquent 
gestures. The above diagram gives a notion 
of the modulation, his true pitch being 
perhaps a little higher. 

Mr. Lloyd-George, one of the most skilful 
debaters and word-fencers in the House — a 

in pitch and intensity, pausing, and again 
proceeding in the same manner. Due regard 
may not be had either to the conclusion of a 
sentence or the moods that have their 
recognised rise or fall. A habit such as this 
may serve a purpose in arresting the atten- 
tion, but it is apt to become tiresome. Mr. 
Hardie speaks usually on D, constantly 
dropping his pitch a tone or more. 

Lord Hugh Cecil has the voice of the 
family — clear and ringing. He indulges in 
occasional upward progressions, on what 
notes it is impossible to say. Like many 
more brilliant men he has a number of habits 
all his own, chief of which is a wringing of 


' Bl »■-»*■'■ 

the hands while speaking. He commonly 
adheres to D and E. The Cecils and the 
Balfours have all voices more or less resem- 
bling each other. None is heavy. The 
quality is resonant and ringing, the articu- 

man destined to have a high place in the 
State, who has the word of the Prime 
Minister that he has risen high among 
Parliamentarians — possesses a flexible voice 
of light, clear, and pleasant quality. He 
articulates perfectly, and never minces his 
words one way or another. The voice is 
admirably adapted to the rdle he plays, for 
he has no need of one to suit a heavy style. 
When in a practical mood he gets along on 
D and E, but at other times he bridges a 




considerable interval Mr. Abraham might 
well be expected to sing a number of notes, 
seeing that he takes a part in the Eisteddfod. 
Like his leader, he indulges in a good deal 
of gesture. 

A number of individual styles remain to 
be mentioned. When the Prime Minister 
speaks we are conscious of listening to a 
great personality. His voice fills the cham- 
ber, and yet it is not a big, robust organ. It 
has that undefinable something in its timbre 
which one listens for in a first-class bari- 
tone's singing. It has the carrying quality 
in a great degree, and needs but little exer- 
tion because of the perfect articulation to 
which it gives sound. Mr. Balfour seldom, 
speaks rapidly, and when he pauses abruptly 
his hearers may expect to receive a smart 

1jt Hon*. Pfatj*** 

J'tt'inM'^i iS 



* r l— '*»" ' + , 

* ' iwt n l imiiini ^ i ^ri^i 


epigram, an ingeniously-turned phrase, or 
a surprising application of an interruption. 
He is one of the keenest fencers in the 
House, delighting to make even a small point 
against his opponents, though it be at the 
expense of a great deal of elaboration. He 
is a skilful reasoner — a dialectician of the 
highest order. These qualities naturally 
infer variety in speech, and Mr. Balfour's 
elocution, in the modern sense of the word, 
responds to the various moods efficiently, 
and yet without much overstraining. The 
note on which he does most speaking is 
somewhere between D and E, but he 
frequently ranges the octave from G to G. 
Mr. George Wyndham, whose name has 
been cursed and blessed by Irish Nationalists, 
has great gifts of eloquence and a powerful, 
clear voice, which he uses with great effect. 
His delivery seems to improve each Session. 





The progress of the Irish Land Bill through 
the House last Session showed him to be 
master of the most intricate details of his 
subject, and his lucid expositions gained the 
admiration of all who heard him. D is the 
note on which he most frequently speaks, 
and the diagram illustrates a passage from 
his speech on the second reading of the 
Land Bill. 

Sir Henry Campbell-Bannerman makes 
himself heard to some effect by means of 

$* ft. &*~/ULUr%*~'«+ 1»««% 


IMUUIMUlllUl »„ ligtmnnu^u^A 

a niuiwi4U 

iii^l \ yK 

mm mi nm t mm\ »' ■ », 

clear utterance rather than strong tones. 
Notwithstanding an occasional huskiness he 
is a pleasant speaker, and the English he 
uses in debate is above reproach. He is 
usually heard on E. 

Mr. Chamberlain's triumph is his debating 
power. The substance of his speeches 
almost overshadows the manner of delivery. 
In the case of the Prime Minister the manner, 
in addition to the substance, engrosses a 
large share of attention. Mr. Chamberlain is 
direct, trenchant, unsparing, when the occa- 
sion offers. He will not trouble over peddling 

flr M**.fafJi (&*JM^* 

J < $m im » 


jWlj ^HH 




mum 1 




UK H\tH H *» 

points for their own sake. He must have a 
big issue or nothing, and heavy, slashing blows 
please him best. He is a sure-footed fighter. 
The manner in which he sometimes springs 
to the table with a bound proves it, apart 
from his reputation. To all appearance 
nervousness is not in his nature. His normal 
voice is soft, almost inclined to approach a 
thick quality, yet so admirably does he 
enunciate, so pleasing a variety is given to 
its tones, and so perfect a restraint is exer- 
cised, that never a syllable is lost in any part 
of the House, Every mood finds due ex- 




press ion. From vehemence he can return to 
pleasantry by an easy step, 

Mr, Asquith modulates hts voice a good 
deal, but largely uses the power of emphasis 
at the risk of being unheard at the end of 

7 * ""' - "" I ""'»»" \'. ' «.»* 

J); i I , \ 

y-ljWnm TTTTTiiiinixlini'UIU.t linr.n'tinin' 

I '111- 



■ i ^'i tn t' nw* 



occasional sentences. Resonance, vigour, 
and brevity characterize his speaking. Mr. 
Gibson Bowles expresses himself rapidly, 
readily, and wittily, in a good tone, about D 
and E. His role of candid friend to the 
Government lends something to the piquancy 
of his remarks. Mr. Ritchie, in introducing 
his first, and perhaps last, Budget, used the 
modulation ^presented in the diagram at one 
part of his speech. He has a hurried, broken- 
up style of delivery, though the possessor of 


-W| itH* 


■ JH HHm i J Hm | -| - 

J?: "_i * " ^i 


a good voice, Mr, Brodrick's manner is 
anxious, and distinctness suffers, more espe- 
cially when the mood is that of indignation* 




mm mrviitivirvmniiEi 



'" 1t fJ T| . ' . j H M < M M ^ 

As Secretary for War he rose well to the 
occasion in the severe ordeals he had 
to pass through last Session. Mr. Chaplin 
has a serviceable vocal organ, with which 
he combines an effective manner. His 
speeches are perspicuous to a degree. There 
is a big bit of the old-fashioned, dignified 
Parliamentarian about him, and he is invari- 
ably welcomed in debate. Mr. Dillon's 
voice is like a clenched fist, ready for the 
striking blow. His manner is often vehement 
and always forcible, Few are superior in the 
expression of passionate bitterness. He is 
fond of dwelling on differently ■ pitched 
strings of notes — viz., C sharp, E, or F, 

The last voice to be mentioned here is 
that of the Speaker (the Right Hon, W, 


mMiIiMJ Sii 1+I.H \* 







Court Gully). Its tones are, like the manner 
of the right hon. gentleman, dignified and 
gracious. Musical and distinct, it is heard 
with equal force in storm and calm, and 
when it speaks it carries a persuasion more 
certain and effective than does the voice 
of the Prime Minister himself. 

«4 -».i 

j - 

by Google 

Original from 


K 5 

£ d 

F there is one matter about 
which I am more particular 
than another,'' said Sir 
Leopold Kershaw, with 
much emphasis> "it is that 
due recognition should be 
given to the absolute equality of man with 
his fellow-man. Show me my fellow- man J — 
Sir Leopold was very defiant at this point — 
" and I will grasp him by the hand and hail 
him as 'Brother/ And I defy anyone to 
prevent me!" 

Sir Leopold Kershaw — big, portly, and 
somewhat brow- beating — stood in front of 
the blazing fire in his comfortable dining- 
room and addressed these remarks to his 
son, Some eight or nine winters only having 
passed over the head of that young gentle- 
man, it must be presumed that his father 
addressed him for lack of a better audience. 
Master 1 eddy Kershaw, for his part, gazed 
solemnly up at his father from the depths of 
an easy chair, and took in the ponderous 
phrases like gospel 

"Then I suppose, papa, that Wilkins is 
my brother?" said the child, slowly, after 
some moments of deep thought. Wilkins, 
it should be said, was the butler. 

Sir Leopold Kershaw coughed. " My 

jhed. " 

child, there are certain distinctions absolutely 
necessary to be observed. Wilkins, although 
nominally your brother, has already, I am 
given to understand, an abnormally large 
following of relatives, and needs no addition 
to them. When I touched upon the principles 
of brotherhood just now, I did not speak so 
much of distinct individuals as of man in the 
abstract, Wilkins, I trust, knows his place " — 
Sir Leopold frowned a little, and seemed to 
suggest that, if Wilkins did not, there were 
those capable of teaching him — "and is, in 
a sense, provided for. In an ideal condition 
of society men would share and share alike : 
one man would not be permitted to partake 
of roast phesaant while his less fortunate 
fellow gnawed the humble trotter ; feather 
beds would be unknown among the classes 
while the masses continued to court repose 
upon doorsteps." 

Now, the mind of a child is a peculiar 
thing — having a tendency, by some strange 
gift of the gods, to retain the true and to cast 
aside the worthless, So it happened that the 
mind of little Teddy Kershaw, by some 
subtle process, eliminated from his father's 
speech all that was mere verbiage, and 
began to construct for itself a glorious 
fabric called Universal Brotherhood. Setting 




aside those who were well fed and pros- 
perous, the child came to see in every 
houseless wanderer of the streets — in every 
toil-worn, white-faced man or woman — some 
being who had a right, not only to his pity, 
but to every luxury which he himself enjoyed. 
And the idea grew and grew until it filled 
his childish mind, and until — like a small 
and gallant Crusader — he began to feel that 
he must do something, more than mere 
thoughts and words, to carry the thing into 
effect. He began for the first time to notice, 
with a sort of pained wonder, that little 
children, smaller and weaker even than him- 
self, shivered in the streets while he rolled 
along in his father's carriage; that women 
carried heavy baskets, while his own mother 
would scarce put her delicate feet to the 
ground and was buried in furs and wraps. 
The incongruity of it came full upon him ; and 
he determined at last, in an inspired moment, 
to do something to remedy the matter. 

To carry out his desires in the presence of 
those who were responsible for him was, 
of course, out of the question ; instead, he 
watched his opportunity, and slipped out of 
the house one day unobserved. 

The town house of Sir Leopold Kershaw 
was in a very fine and extremely aristocratic 
square ; but quite near to it — crouching and 
hiding under the wing of its grandeur — was 
a terrible nest of slums. And into this, by 
some natural instinct, drifted Master Teddy 

With that newly-kindled love of humanity 
fairly bursting out of him he was prepared 
to seize the first likely wastrel by the hand 
and give instant effect to his father's many 
speeches ; and he had not far to seek. 

Just on the borderland, where the genteel 
streets began to grow more shabby and 
where untidy women and children seemed to 
be overflowing out of every house, stood 
a costermonger's barrow, the proprietor of 
which was leaning, in a dejected attitude, 
against it. It was the poorest barrow imagin- 
able, with one of its shafts mended with 
string, and with a few sorry-looking vegetables, 
which never by any chance could have grown 
in any imaginable garden, displayed upon it. 

The costermonger himself had evidently 
come to the conclusion that it was quite 
useless to attempt to impose his wares, at 
any price, even in that most poverty-stricken 
market ; despair sat heavily upon him, and 
lurked even in the empty bowl of his cold 
pipe. Yet he was comparatively a young 
man, and not ill-looking; and the woman 
who leaned near him, with her elbows on the 

Digitized by Lit 

barrow and her chin propped in her hands, 
had once, and not so long ago, been quite 
pretty, despite the gaudy hat which drooped 
disconsolately over her eyes. 

Here, surely, was a forlorn brother indeed ! 
Teddy hesitated for but an instant, and then 
advanced towards the man. He felt that it 
would be wiser not to shake hands with him 
at once, as that smacked too much of fami- 
liarity ; so he merely bowed and put a casual 
question — suggested by the barrow — as to 
the state of trade. 

" Can't you sell anything ? " he asked. 

The costermonger looked Teddy up and 
down in astonishment, and then looked 
round at the woman and jerked his head 
sideways in a very curious fashion ; drew the 
back of his hand slowly and elaborately 
across his mouth, and looked at Teddy 

"No, yer Tghness, I can't," he replied, 
slowly and emphatically. Turning to the 
woman, with another jerk of the head, he 
muttered something abdht a "rum start" 

"But wouldn't people buy the things if 
you shouted?" asked the boy. "Other 
people shout what they have to sell." Which 
was evident by the babel of noise about 

The costermonger, who appeared to have 
got over his surprise, and who seemed to be 
rather a friendly sort of fellow, proceeded to 
explanations. "You see, yer Tghness, it's 
this 'ere way," he began. " I've 'ollered an' 
'ollered till there ain't a puff of bref left in 
me; an' it's me private opinion that if yer 
was to bring sparrergrass tied up wiv pink 
ribbin into this 'ere street an' chuck it at 'em, 
they'd chuck it back agin. As fer this little 
lot " — he indicated the contents of the barrow 
with a backward jerk of his thumb — " they'll 
see me blue-mouldy afore they'll lay out a 
bloomin' farden on 'em." 

Having so far relieved his mind, the man 
looked into the bowl of his pipe and, finding 
nothing there, returned the pipe to his pocket ; 
then took up the handles of the barrow and 
prepared to move away. 

Now it happened that Master Teddy knew 
that his father and mother were out and 
were not expected to return until late; it 
was probably owing to that circumstance 
that he had escaped from durance so easily. 
Further, the boy knew that, in a household 
where he ruled supreme as the only child 
of a rich man, he could practically do as 
he liked. True, he had never attempted 
so bold a scheme as that which was at the 
present moment seething in his small brain ; 



H l 

but he felt not the slightest doubt that he 
could carry it through successfully and with- 
out opposition, Accordingly, in the most 
casual fashion possible, he asked the coster- 
monger if he would come and have some 

The unfortunate man almost upset the 
barrow in the shock of the moment ; but, 
recovering himself, began to perform the 
most extraordinary antics Teddy had ever 
seen* First he straightened himself from the 
hips and gave a sudden tilt to his hat with 
both hands, which threw it dexterously over 
one eye ; next he twisted up the collar of his 
coat and stuck his thumbs in the arm-holes 
of his waistcoat ; then took a little skip back- 
wards and a little skip forwards ; put his 
tongue into his cheek and ejaculated the 
single word \ '* Walker ! " 

Perceiving from these 
signs, in a dim fashion, 
that the man doubted the 
honesty of his intentions, 
Teddy btrcame more em- 
phatic, assuring the man 
that he lived quite near 
at hand, and that lunch 
would be just about ready; 
that he would be quite 
alone with them ; even 
going so far as to enumer- 
ate some of the dishes 
which might be expected. 
But the costermonger evi- 
dently still had his doubts. 

The woman, however, 
with the keenness of her 
sex^ saw farther into the 
matter than the man. She 
spoke in a low T er voice, 

41 Sam, there may be 
summink in it, arter all- 'E's a little 
swell, by the looks of 'im, an T *e don't 
look 'ard-'earted enough to go for to 
guy us, do T e ? " 

The man, who appeared, even under the 
most distressing circumstances, to have some 
latent spark of humour about him, scratched 
his head for a moment, and then addressed 
the boy with extreme politeness. 

fi Seein' as 'ow you're so pressin', yer nibs, 
I dunno but what we won't take a snack wiv 
yer — me an' me donah " — he indicated the 
woman with one hand. " Do yer fink I 
might leave the barrer in yer front garding ? " 

Teddy was wise enough to see that the 
carrying out of the latter suggestion might 
cause tongues to wag in the aristocratic 
square, so it was finally decided that the 

barrow should be left in the care of a worthy 
man, of disreputable appearance, who lived 
in a yard near at hand, and who, for its 
better protection, agreed to sleep in it until 
their return. 

It is probable that, had Master Teddy 
Kershaw brought in a travelling menagerie 
with him — including the elephant — to lunch, 
Wilkins the butler would scarcely have 
expressed surprise, whatever his private feel- 
ings might have been. Therefore, when the 
boy introduced his two new friends into the 
house, gravely referring to them as " Mr, and 
Mrs. Donah/ 7 and announcing that they would 
partake of lunch with him, Wilkins merely 
bowed and murmured H Very good, Master 
Edwin"; discreetly waiting until he had gained 
the seclusion of his pantry before exploding. 


Mrs. Donah was very much subdued and 
decidedly ill at ease ; but Mr. Donah, on the 
other hand, made himself quite at home with 
much rapidity, He addressed the appallingly 
stiff footman pleasantly as (l Calves," and 
taunted him with the suggestion that he was 
quite big enough to be " put into trahsis," 
Finally, having appeased his appetite, he 
lounged easily about the room and admired 
its appointments. 

" I say, yer nibs, is this 'ere yer guv'nor's 
chivvy P M he asked presently, stopping in 
front of a full-length portrait of Sir Leopold 
Kershaw — Qripini&bii which, by the way, 




"Fray explain yourself," said Sir Leopold, 

"Righto, ole Poker-back, just 'arf a shake! 
I'm a-comin' to it I've got a little nipper at 

'utik\ wofs wa>ted awav to a mere ^ 
— yer might let go a bloke's arm an' let him 
rub 'is dial-plate, Calves — ! an Vs a-lyin' in 
one room, an' most of the bed-clothes is 
up the spout I've 'ollered * Fine 'earty 
cabbage ! ' till I've got it on my brain, an' 
"tahrt no good. Then, comin' in 'ere wiv 
the missis t'other day ter lunch (leastways 
they called it lunch, but it was abaht a full 
week's grub fer us) wiv 'is Tghness " 

" To lunch ? What ts the man talking 
about?" broke in Sir I^opold Kershaw, 

(l W'y, 'is nibs comes aht w'en me and the 
ole gal was a-standin 1 by the barrer, and ses 
? e, quite friendly-tike, * Come in an' 'ave 
lunch alonger me/ ses 'e* Not 'avin J me 
party frock on, in consequence of it bein' 
kep J at the wash, I 'ung back ; but 'is nibs 
was that pressin' there was no gettin* over 
'im, an J very 'andsome 'e done us, I mus* say." 
Thus Mr. Donah, with much emphasis. 

"It is perfectly right/' said Teddy, coming 
a little farther into the room. " I had 
heard what you said, father, about every 
man being my brother, except Wilkins" (the 
unfortunate butler blushed hotly on finding 
himself brought into such prominent notice), 
M and Mr. Donah, as well 
as Mrs. Donah, looked so 
miserable and so hungry 
that I thought you 
wouldn't mind. So I 
brought them in here, 
and we had quite a good 
time.* 1 

" You brought them in 
here ? n ejaculated the 
master of the house, in 

" Yes," said Teddy, 
boldly Then, beginning 
to feel dimly and miser- 
ably that Mr + Donah was 
in a very tight place, 
Teddy, for the first time 
in his brief career, began 
to lie. " In fact, I told 
Mr. Donah that I thought 
he had a perfect right to 
everything which we had, 
and I'm afraid I even 
suggested that it wouldn't 
matter very much if he just 
helped himself to " 

Digitized by 

"'Ere, stow it, yer 'Ighness ; no perjury/' 
exclaimed Mr. Donah* " Yer won't never 
sing wiv the angels if yer go on in that way." 
He turned suddenly towards Sir Leopold, 
and spoke with a certain despairing fierce- 
ness upon him : " Look 'ere, guv'nor — I 
don't want 'is nibs to be tell in' no crams 
abaht it. I come in 'ere, an' I 'as a jolly 
good feed— fair wallers in it, I does — till the 
ole gal breaks dahn, an' reminds me abaht 
our little nipper at 'ome, wivaht a crust* I 
goes 'ome that night an' meets the parish 
doctor on the stairs. l I>oekery' — that's me 
name wVn I goes a-ridin' in the park — 
1 1 )ockery/ ses 'e, * that kid o J yourn wants 
nourishment — beef tea — good eggs ; and you 
did ought ter get 'im away into the country.' 
Lor* luv us — w'y didn't 'e tell me to take 'im 
to 'ave tea alonger the Queen at Buckingham 
Pallis while 'e was abaht it?" 

" You were not able to provide these 
^necessaries for your child ? " said Sir Leopold, 
somewhat unnecessarily, 

" I were not/' responded Mr. Donah, 
doggedly* "So that night I sits a-thinkin*, 
an' a-thinkin 1 ,. till me head fair buzzes, an' all 
next day I thinks a bit 'arder, tilt at last it 
comes over me that it ain't right, arier wot 
you've said abaht me bein* yer bruvver, that 
'is nibs 'ere should be 'avin' roas* duck an' 
tomater sauce, so ter speak, an' my pore kid 
a-chewin' 'is fingers fer comfort. An' this 





mornin', seem' 'im look a bit finner than 
usual, I got fair desp'rit 7 , an' couldn't " stan' it 
no longer. So 1 made up me min' as 'ow 
Fd 'elp meself to a bit of me bruvver's silver 

"To use one of the vulgarisms familiar 
to your class, my friend," interposed Sir 
Leopold, " 4 1 am afraid that your statement 
won't wash." 

"It'll wash a lump better than some er 
yer spoutings," retorted Mr. Donah, with 
some indignation. " Wot's the good er tellin' 
a man one minute 'e's yer bruvver an' 'as a 
right ter share everyfink wiv yer, an' lockin' 
'im up the nex* .fer 'elpin' 'isself? There, 
I've ad me little jaw ; now send fer the 
bloomin amberlance." 

Sir Leopold Kershaw was thinking very 
hard indeed. It would be too much to say 
that he was in any sense converted; sujh 
sudden conversions are rare. But h-j had a 
wholesome dread of seeing his principles 
derided or himself made a laughing-stock ; 
and Mr. Donah's remarkably caustic mode of 
speech would, he felt, suit the humour of th : 
evening papers to a nicety. Sir Leopold h:.d 
a mental vision of himself prosecuting in a 
police-court, and writhing under Mr. Donah's 
remarks in defence of his crime — the while 
busy reporters scribbled as if for their lives. 
Moreover, the man, to do him justice, had a 
certain honesty of purpose beneath all his 
ponderous phrases ; his only fault lay in the 
fact that he did not, in any sense, understand 
the class about whom he talked so much. 
After a moment or two of thought he sternly 
dismissed the whole of the servants, caution- 
ing them against chattering about the matter 
for the present ; and was left alone in the 
room with his littfe son and Mr. Donah. 

" Now, Dockery : I think you said that 
was your name " 

"CYistened Sam, at Sin George's in the 
Borough, on a Toosday — wiv me a 'owlin' 
proper an' bitin' the parson's little finger/' 
broke in Mr. Dockery. 

"Well, Dockery, the circumstances attend- 
ing your offence are somewhat peculiar, and 
I am disposed to take a lenient view of the 
matter. I am impelled to this course by the 
remembrance that my son is, to an extent, 
concerned in the affair " — Sir Leopold 
Kershaw felt that he must really make an 
excuse of some kind or other — "and I am 
unwilling that he should imagine that the 
principles I have so strongly laid down in 

his hearing are sentiments merely, and that 
I am not prepared to carry them out when 
opportunity occurs. I deny your right to 
purloin my property, but I will have inquiry 
made into your case, and if I find that you 
are really deserving ^ will carry my principles 
into effect. I^eave me your name and address 
— and then go." 

Sam Dockery looked all about him for a 
moment in sheer amazement, put his hat on, 
and then took it off in a great hurry ; took 
those queer little dancing steps of his, first 
backwards and then forwards, made a feint 
of squaring up to Teddy, and finally put 
his arm before his eyes and broke into un- 
mistakable tears. 

" Yer 'Ighness," he observed, in a shaky 
voice, when he had somewhat recovered, 
" parss no rude remarks ! This is me one 
an' only ; I was thinkm' of the nipper an' 
of 'ow 'e might 'ave bin wivaht 'is daddy fer 
a munf er two. Guv'nor " — he turned to 
Sir Leopold — " I've sed a few fings wot I 
didn't orter ; let it parss. Yer ain't sich a 
bad sort as yer look — an' Gawd knows yer 
didn't make yer own chivvy ! Ask for Sam 
Dock jry dahn in Book's Buildings, an 1 any- 
one will direck yer to me 'umble cot. An 1 
HI interdooce yer to the missis an' the 

Despite his levity Mr. Dockery appeared 
to find some difficulty in getting out of the 
door. Sir Leopold — amazing man ! — opened 
the hall-door himself, and Teddy fancied he 
heard the quick chink of money. Curiously, 
too, Sir I^eopold, when he came back into 
the dining-room, wore a smile on his usually 
stern face, and told Teddy, in quite a 
pleasant tone of voice, to " cut away to bed." 

Nor did Sir Leopold Kershaw forget his 
promise. Sam Dockery and his wife were 
startled the very next day by a visit from the 
great man himself, accompanied by " 'is 
Ighness " and by a footman bearing a 
hamper. Nor was this all : for, a lodge- 
keepership falling vacant on Sir Leopold's 
country estate, Sam and his wife and the 
"nipper" were installed in it in comfort ; on 
which occasion Mr. Dockery gave himself 
airs in Duke's Buildings, before his departure, 
and informed all and sundry that he was 
going down to his country house " ter pot 
the bloomin* dicky-birds." 

Sir Leopold Kershaw is as great a man as 
ever ; but he talks less about the equality 
and brotherhood of man. 

by Google 

Original from 

The Story of " Bradshaw" 

By Newton Deane. 

fV(rtH a Water Qvlvttf Prcrvn? 

I HAT books do you consult 
most ? " a political adherent 
once asked John Bright in the 
midst of an arduous campaign. 
"The Bible and ■ Bradshaw,' " 

was the reply 

of the great 

Quaker. To 

this another 


added that 

both stood in 

equal need of 



— or t to give 

it its correct 

title, "Brad- 
Shaw's General 

Railway and 

Steam Naviga- 
tion Guide" 

— is essentially a British institution like the 

Times, football, Punchy and cricket. In 

common with all great institutions, it is 

a target for libel and detraction on the part 

of people who are a little difficult to please. 

Its very accuracy has been questioned. It 

has been said — -by a suc- 
cession of incorrigible 

humorists, including Charles 

Dickens — to have driven 

countless British lieges to 

lunacy. Our retreats for 

the insane are said to be 

invariably provided with a 

" Bradshaw ward/' filled 

with the unhappy victims 

uf the famous guide. But, 

seriously, " Bradshaw 1 ' — 

like the Bench of Bishops — 

can afford to be indulgent in 

the knowledge that it is in* 

dispensable. What should 

we do without "Brad- 

shaw " ? What if the portly 

brochure in the buff covers, 

that was born in the heart 

of England some sixty-five 

years ago, had never come 

into existence? True, 

Londoners have their 

"A B C," but London is 

only a tenth of the king- 
dom, and, besides, u Brad- 
shaw " has all Lurope for 

its province. Anyway, the 

origin and early progress of " Bradshaw " 
are interesting enough to be better known to 
the world. 

The name of the man who founded the 
celebrated guide was George Bradshaw, 
He was a Quaker, and a map-maker by 
calling. Before the days of railways he 
employed himself on maps showing the 
canals of Lancashire and Yorkshire, But 
by 1839 the kingdom was rapidly becoming 
intersected by that astonishing — but, when 
one comes to think of it, very simple — 
invention, the steel rail. The iron horse 
of Stephenson was prancing stertorously 
about between Manchester and Liverpool 
and Manchester and Ixmdon and other 
cities. Passengers — who had hardly been 
taken into Stephenson's calculations at all 
when he inaugurated the first railway in 
1825 — were clamouring for transportation. 
A knowledge of train arrivals and departures 
was imperative. 

In the year of Queen Victoria's accession 
the only M guide' 3 available for the patrons 
of the Birmingham and Liverpool — or, as it 
was called, the Grand Junction Railway — 
took the singular form of a large pewter 
medal, which the traveller could carry in his 

the Bradsha\v 





J S7 

pocket. On the obverse of this metallic 
guide was inscribed : — 

("rrund junction Railway. Opened July 4, 1S37, 
The trains leave :— 

Birmingham. LrvsRfooc. & Manchester, 

Hour. VI in. Hour. Min* 















1 55 

2 24 
2 59 

97# 4 30 

On the reverse : — 

Time and Distance from Birmingham. 
To. Milesv. h> 

Wolverhampton .♦. ,,. 14^ 

Slarlbrd 29 # 

Whitmure , 43^ 

Crewe ,,, ... ... 54 

Hartford ..♦ ,., ... 65 % 
Manchester \ 
Liverpool )" 
Afterwards the railway companies — there 

were just seven of them — issued 

monthly leaflets on their own 

account, What a convenience 

to the travelling public it would 

be if someone would collect 

these leaflets and reprint them 

in the form of a little book or 

pamphlet ! No sooner did the 

idea occur to Brads haw than he 

acted on it. There is no doubt 

that had he delayed there were 

others ready to promulgate the 

notion. Indeed, one Gadsby, a 

Manchester printer, followed close 

at his heels, just missing priority 

by a few weeks. 

It was towards the end of 

October, the "ioih mo." of the 

Quakers, that the printing press 

at Manchester turned out the 

first " Bradshaw." It was a very 

modest, unobtrusive little volume, 

hound in green cloth, with a 

simple legend in gilL It could 

be obtained of any bookseller 

or railway company for the sum of 

sixpence. It was not, however, 

as we may see, entitled * 4 Brad- 

shaw's Railway Guide " — that 

title was not to come till later. 

Here, too, is the " address " or 

introduction to the first " Brad- 

shaw " : — 

" This book is published by the 

assistance of the several railway 

companies, on which account 

the information it contains may 

be depended upon as being correct and 

authentic. The necessity of such a work is 

so obvious as to need no apology ; and the 

merits of it can best be ascertained by a 
reference to the execution both as regards 
the style and correctness of the maps and 
plans with which it is illustrated." For it 
must be borne in mind that Bradshaw was 
first and foremost a map-engraver, and was 
not likely to let such an opportunity for a dis- 
play in public of his skill pass profitless by. 
We also give a reproduction of the first 
page of Bradshaw's effort. From this little 
book we learn that, like the French trams 
and omnibuses of to-day , there was one 
charge for inside and another for outside 
passengers, six shillings being the first-class 
fare between Liverpool and Manchester. Of 
the first " time-tables," only two copies 
of each variety — for there was a slight 
variation in the issues for October, 1839— 
are known to be in existence: two are in 

I no apology : and 


the Bodleian Library, Oxford, and two are 
in the possession of Bradshaw's successors, 
Henry Rlackloc^| ftijjfoCo., of Manchester, 




f mm 

so that they are among the rarest editions 

Some two months later, on New Year's 
Day, 1840, Bradshaw brought out his little 
work in an amended form, with a brand-new 
title. This gave him further opportunities, 
in the course of its thirty-eight pages, for 
maps and letterpress, and to it he gave the 
title of "Railway Companion." It is really 
in size and type and style the same thing as 
the time-tables ; but being sold at a shilling 
was continued distinct from the time-tables 
until it was merged 
into the "Guide" 
in 1848. There is 
some interesting, if 
somewhat startling, 
information in the 
One can only gasp 
at being confronted 
by " A table show- 
ing the rate of 
travelling from one 
to four hundred 
miles an hour." 
These rosy antici- 
pations have not yet 
been realized — not 
even in the velocity 
of the electric 

How, it may be 
asked, did the rail- 
way companies of 
1840 receive the 
first general railway 
guide? Odd to 
relate, not with any 
great favour. They 
even refused to 
supply their time- 
tables to Bradshaw 
when they ascer- 
tained the use to 

which that enterprising Quaker was putting 
them. " Why," they said, " if this fellow goes 
on in this way he will make punctuality a 
kind of obligation, with penalties for failure. 
Whereas at present, if the ten minutes past 
three train steams gently out at twenty 
minutes to four, or even four o'clock, we do 
not fall much in the esteem of the public, 
accustomed to the free and easy methods of 
the stage-coach." 

But the Quaker was not thus to be re- 
pressed. He got hold of the time-tables 
somehow ; he waited in person on the 
boards ; afterwards he even purchased stock in 

Digitized by l^OOgle 


ftatltoap Cimt Cabled, 



wit a 


act no* or 


6rr. 4in\ by 8pt. 4i5#. 

Price is Sheeti . , . ! 11 
Moisted 2 10 










10ft Mo. 19th, 1830. 


the hostile railway companies, and the enter- 
prise went on. But as yet the guides we have 
been describing were not regularly issued. 
They were mere fitful publications, and it 
was not until Adams, whom Bradshaw had 
secured as his London agent, urged upon 
him the necessity of a regular issue that 
the first monthly " Guide " made its debut m 
the world. This was on December 1st, 1841. 
The " Guide " differed from its predecessors 
in being bound in paper — not cloth — and 
in consisting of but thirty-two pages of 

printed matter. By 
this time, too, 
Bradshaw could 
announce that 
"This work is pub- 
lished monthly, 
under the direction 
and with the assist 
ance of the railway 
companies, and is 
carefully corrected 
up to the date it 
bears; every re- 
liance may, there- 
fore, be placed on 
the accuracy of its 

Moreover, it was 
dispensed in an- 
other and simpler 
form. The pages of 
which it was com- 
posed were arranged 
on a single large 
sheet or " broad- 
side," " exhibiting 
at one view the 
hours of departure 
and arrival of the 
trains on every rail- 
way in the kingdom, 
and are particularly 
adapted for count- 
ing-houses and places of business." For this 
sheet only threepence was demanded, but if 
mounted on stiff boards the price was two 
shillings and ninepence. 

In 1843 the railway mania, which after- 
wards enriched and beggared thousands, was 
advancing apace. There were in that year 
just forty -eight different railways in the 
kingdom ; and as the public were keenly 
interested in them we find, together with a 
slight alteration in the title of " Bradshaw " 
to the " Monthly General Railway and Steam 
Navigation Guide," more reading matter, and 
" a list of shares*, exhibiting at one view the 




























B. JHUsirrrrAD. 


Blitchlst . .. 








. H*xrro* 




cost, traffic length, dividend, and market 
value of the same." 

There is one curious circumstance in the 
early history of " Bradshaw," which Mr. Percy 
Fitzgerald has pointed out. Its founder 
appears to have been ashamed of its youth, 
for when the fortieth number had been 
attained we find, 
in September, 
1844, a sudden 
jump to number 
146. Did those 
missing hundred 
numbers ever 
afterwards dis- 
turb the pious 
Quaker's rest ? 

From these 
early guides a 
great deal of en- 
tertainment and 
instruction is to 
be obtained. 
There is no men- 
tion of " express " 
trains, for in- 
stance ; they are 
described as 
"first Class," 
" second class," 
44 mixed, " "fast," 
and "mail." We 

are told that " first-class trains stop at first- 
class stations." Third-class travellers tra- 
velled on the roof or in open "waggons." 
At the other end of the scale of luxury 
were "glass coaches" — />., carriages with 
plenty of windows. Tickets are " passes " 
or "check tickets," and it is strictly 
enjoined that "the check ticket given to 
the passenger on payment of his fare will 
be demanded from him at the station next 
before his arrival at London or Birming- 
ham, and if not then produced he will be 
liable to have the fare again demanded." 
As to fares, we learn from the "Guide" 
that they fluctuate according to day or night 
or the number of passengers in a carriage. 
The fare from London to Birmingham 
was thirty-two shillings and sixpence first 
class, but if six travelled inside by day 
the tariff was reduced to thirty shillings, 
and a similar reduction for second- 
class passengers. Now that the season- 
ticket system is so widespread and 
familiar, the reader learns with some 
amazement that "An ajinual subscription 
ticket from London t<5- Brighton and 
back is ^ioo." Here are some further 
extracts from the " Guide " : — 

"Passengers are especially recommended 
to have their names and address or destina- 
tion written on each part of their luggage, 
when it will be placed on the top of the 
coach in which they ride. 

"If the passenger be destined for Man- 

7 2d 

7 50 

8 50 
• 6 


10 10 

10 34 

11 SO 


8 80 

8 40 

9 20 


10 la 

10 30 

10 55 

11 6 
II 85 

11 45 
I* 5 

12 20 
12 35 




8 45 

10 5 


2 15 


9 3011 

U 50il2 33 

12 50 1 30 
1 15 

u 45 

10 48J12 25 
12 50 

I 15 

1 50 
4 4 


3 10 

2 30| 4 30 




2 25 
2 50 

3 15 

3 50 

4 5 

5 10j 
• 30 

2 30 

2 50 

3 10 
3 20 

3 36 

4 15 
4 30 
4 oi 

4 5 

5 35 
5 45 
9 90 
8 35 


5 45 

e 2, 


7 4«» 

7 50 

8 5 


10 30 


H. M. 


7 10 
7 20 

7 3*. 

8 15 
8 30 


8 30 

2 56 

10 44 

II 40 



*H w 4. 

s. u. 

3 6 

13 8 

14 8 

17 8 

18 8 
24 8 
97 2 
2d 8 
33 8 


S. D. 


*4 9 
7 8 






S. D, 









•. i». 

7 8 
9 8 





Then it a Mind Train /rem jfyirrWy to London it 1 1 «,sv, end 9m from London to jfjrfetoiAf ot 3 ».m. 

fVKDAY Tbaixs.— Time* of Departure, Mixed I a.m. Mail**} a.m, Mtied to Wolvertoa 4 pm, Mail,* mixes' »| p.m. 

CbJMrcn under Ten Years of age. Half-price. In fate ia Arm*, unable to walk, free of cha rge So l diers on rontt 1 
charged under a special agreement."— Dogs am charged lor any dtetanee not exceecding 30 mile*, la. ; 04 miles, 2a. ; 84 miles 
3a. ; and die whole distance, 4i . No dogs allowed CD be tefcro inside the Carnages. 

Carriage* aid Harm ehoald be at the itstioas a Quarter ol *e boar before the time of rfeper tote, sad taay cannot W forwarded 
by eey traia ualeea there, at the lea»t, five mtetttca before tie tune of depertare, wbicb tine is puactoelly observed, and afiar the 
doors are closed ao PaAeragenreaa be admitted 

To gaud agaiaal accident sad delay, it It eepceiaJIv reauected that Paesragera will aat leave their teats at any of the Ststfarif 

rept wolvertoa (b*lf way), where tra miaatea are allowed for refreshment: 

A Pas«enger ms> claim iba seat correspondta* to the aunravr on hi* Ticket, and when not nambered he may Use any seat net 
frevioealy accepted.— No Oramiiy, under any eirrnmemanes. Is allowed 10 be tehee by any Servant of the Company. 
Tea mtavtes are allowed at the Wof vertoa Ceatrai Station, where a female U ia at'endaace, when retre«hmeate ma v be obtained. 

The Trains marked with an aMrrirt (•) am ia eoajanetbm with those of the Oraad Jaaction Railway ; ea81eleat ttme betas 
allowed st the Birmingham Station, where refreshments nee provide I, and waitiag rooms, wt|b female attendaate. , 


by t^ 






Chester or Liverpool, and has booked his place 
through, his luggage will be placed on the 
Liverpool or Manchester coach, and will not 
be disturbed until it reaches its destination. 
" Where the space is dotted the trains call ; 
where a blank, thus 
-, they do not/ 


take any seat riot 

(Here ts an example 
of this new arrange- 
ment, which, it must 
be confessed, is a 

I itt 1 e re vol u t ionary 
of the accepted 
method.) " Infants 
in arms, unable to 
tvalk^ free of charge, 

"A passenger may 
claim the seat corre- 
sponding to the 
number on his 
ticket, and when 
not numbered he may 
previously occupied. 

14 Preserve your ticket until called for by the 
company's servant." (Fancy the passengers 
of 1904 requiring to be curbed in their pro- 
(>ensity for throwing their tickets out of the 
window !) 

" Do not Jean upon the door of the 
carriage." . * 

But by far the most surprising injunction to 
us nowadays, when the tips of railway porters 
show a tendency to expand instead of 
diminish, is this: "No gratuity, under any 
circumstances, is allowed to be taken by 
any servant of the company." 

How incomprehensible to us nowadays, 
when not even Mr. Beit, Mr. Astor, or Mr. 
Carnegie owns his own railway vehicle : 

II Gentlemen riding in their own carriages 
are charged second-class fares." 

How "Bradshaw" has 
grown from that day! It be- 
gan with thirty odd pages; 
it is now some twelve 
hundred. The weight of 
the first little " Guide" was 
a couple of ounces — it now 
tips the scale at a pound ami 
a half. And thnk of the 
immense labour involved 
in the production of each 
monthly issue. It taxes 
all the resources of a large 
staff of editors and printers 
— for are not " [>erpetual 
and minute changes taking 
place in the hours and 
places," which " have to 













SlLlV tJ <-„*.*.,. 















MlCKLBPIlLD ..*,_; 



KlHHLITOM .,.....,.,.. 





1 ...... 

SELBY ..p. 




lv SHAW I A W V5 


be introduced often at the last moment " ? 
Kvery single page has literally to he packed 
to bursting with type, not merely with words 
and numerals, but with characters and spaces 
—altogether three thousand to the page, or 

equivalent to a 
dozen ordinary 
octavo volumes. 
Kvery change, how- 
ever trifling, in- 
augurated by the 
traffic superinten- 
dent of the smallest 
railway has here to 
be instantly set 
down. New trains 
must be crowded in 
somehow into an 
al ready o vercr o wded 
page — for there 
must be no "over- 
running.^ No wonder, then f that if " Brad- 
shkw*s Guide" is difficult to compile it is 
often equally difficult to understand. It 
has been called " a recondite treatise on the 
subject of railway times/ 1 From the earliest 
day its method has elicited the severest 
criticism from the wits. George Cruikshank 
and other wits called it an " Aid to 
Bedlam," Mark Lemon wrote innumerable 
skits in Punch, which his friend Leech 
illustrated In one of these (May 24th, 
1856) we have nearly two pages devoted 
to " Bradshaw - - a Mystery/' in which 
two lovers, parted by distance, seek to 
unite by means of the M Guide." They are 
utterly unable to discover when Orlando's 
train should depart and arrive. Both are 
plunged into the madness of despair. At 
last blind chance favours the lovers, and 
the fair one confesses :— ■ 

"Bradshaw M has neatly mad- 
dened me, 
Ok LAN HO : And me. 

lie talks of I rams arriving that 

ne'er start ; 
G( trains that seem to start and 

ne'er arrive ; 
Or j unci ions where no union is 

effected ; 
l >f ei»aehes meeting 1 ruins that 

never come ; 
Of trains to catch a coach that 

never goes ; 
Of trains that start ai.^r they 

have arrived i 
Of irains arriving; long before 

they leave* 
He bids us u see* % some page 

that can't be found. 
Henceforth take me not ** Brad- 
^ shaw" for your guide. 

(Cm tain.) 


By Max Pembekton, 



HEY were talking of treasure 
in the parlour of the Three 
Tuns at Gravesend — old salts, 
every one of them, to whom 
five hundred pounds a year 
had been riches beyond desire, 
precise inspiration of their eloquence 
chanced to be the money which had been 
smuggled out of Africa at the time of the 
war. Some said that it was all banked in 
France and Holland; others declared that a 
few paltry millions had gone to America, In 
the heat of the argument pipes were broken 
and glasses overturned. Gilbert Lorimer, a 
young officer on a Scotch tramp, who had 
been ashore on his captain's business, smiled 
often and said little ; but he corrected old 
Crahb of the Margate service, and drew down 
upon himself that worthy's wrath thereby. 

"There's more nonsense than not talked 
about a million of money/' the captain had 
remarked, sententiously. The others agreed* 
Had anyone bestowed such a trifle upon 

VoL ; 



them, they would have been at no loss how 
to handle it. 

" I'd pop my lot in the Savings Bank/ 1 said 
Billy of the wherry, in parsimonious solem- 
nity. Jack the waterman, however, declared 
that he would ferry his across the river and 
leave it to-morrow with the lawyers. Then 
the sage and learned Skipper Crabb delivered 
himself of the oracle, 

11 A million weighs close upon five tons," 
said he, 

" More than ten/' exclaimed Gilbert 
Lorimer, quietly. 

"Ah, here's Croesus," was the captain's sly 
retort, "and I dare say," he put it familiarly 
to Gilbert, " that you are very much at home 
with sums like that. Suppose you make it 
champagne, young man ? 

Gilbert laughed drily. He was a fine 
specimen of a sailor, and he would have 
been called handsome by the women in 
spite of the scar upon his cheek an ugly 
gash which seemed to have a history behind 
it. A litdtfidtlMJvlHdHTElnd proud, he had 




listened to the talk of money with some 
contempt ; but the captain's challenge drew 
him out, and he rang the bell impatiently 
for the barman. 

"Champagne, by all means," he said, 
"since the next that I shall drink will be 
in Sydney. As to your million, I know 
nothing about it ; but I once owned some 
large part of one. What's more, I was 
careless enough to lose it." 

A solemn silence fell upon the company. 
Gilbert Lorimer raised his glass and gave 
them "To our next" The aged Captain 
Crabb surrendered at once to a master. I, 
alone, followed the young sailor from the 
room and asked him, at the river's bank, to 
let me have a story. 

"Yonder's my ship," he said, indicating 
the anchor light of a large steamer. " She 
would be at the Nore before I had well 

" Then why not write it ? " 

He shook his head. 

" I am handier with the gloves," said he. 

" Oh, but you can spin a plain yarn, I'll 
be bound." 

" Well, as to that " 

The great steamer sounded her siren and 
he leaped into the wherry. His last word 
was a cheery " So long." But he sent me 
the story of his treasure three months after- 
wards, and I give it here with scarce a line 
deleted or a phrase re-turned. 


Every man on board the Oceanus — some- 
time a mail-boat to the South African ports 
— knew that we carried treasure to Europe, 
but what was the amount of it, or for whom 
we carried it, our captain, Joey Castle, 
alone could say. We had been chartered 
at Sydney for the purpose, being one of the 
fastest steamers in Southern waters, and we 
took in the bullion, chiefly in golden ingots, 
at Lorenzo Marques. Some did say that it 
was the property of a Dutch bank, which 
preferred the American flag to the German, 
for the Oceanus was under American colours, 
and a handier steamer of her tonnage I 
never sailed in. Grant you that the crew 
\yere a rough lot — niggers and Lascars, 
Poles and Swedes, with half-a-dozen Christian 
white men to put currants on your cake. 
Well, the owners were one of the safest 
houses in New York, and fat Joey Castle 
you might have trusted with the Bank of 
England itself. Not two cents did he care 
whether he had a hold full of diamonds or 
of doughnuts. 

Digitized by LiOOQ U? 

" I'm going right through, gentlemen," he 
said to us at dinner the night we sailed, 
"and if any tin warship threatens me I'll 
make Europe laugh. Risk 1 Why, there's 
twenty times the risk in a roundabout at a 
fair ! Let 'em stop me if they like — I'll put 
'em through the goose-step before they've 
.been two minutes aboard, as sure as my 
name's Joey Castle ! " 

Well, we didn't think very much about it, 
but there had been a lot of talk ashore con- 
cerning the British Government and how it 
handled suspicious ships entering or leaving 
Lorenzo Marques. I myself thought it not 
unlikely that we should have some trouble. 
To put it honestly, I didn't take the hook on 
the end of this Dutch bank line ; and I just 
said to myself that our gold was Government 
gold, and that if it were found aboard of us 
all the Stars and Stripes between 'Frisco and 
Sandy Hook wouldn't be worth a red cent 
to us. We should have to pay out, and 
quick about it. 

In this view I stood alone, however, and I 
must say that when we put to sea without 
let or hindrance, and were steaming next 
morning due south before a rattling breeze 
and with a splendid swell under us, I dis- 
missed the subject as readily as the others 
and considered our port already made. That 
opinion lasted for ten days. On the eleventh 
day, at noon, we sighted a British cruiser on 
our port quarter. Poor old Joey Castle ! He 
didn't say a word about the Stars and Stripes 
then. His topic concerned the nether 
regions. You shivered in your boots when 
he talked to the engineers. I was on the 
bridge when the nigger Sam cried up his 
news of the other ship; and while I was 
spying her through my glass Captain Castle 
himself came out of the chart -room and 
asked me what was there. 

" Ixx>ks like an ugly one, sir," said I ; " a 
cruiser, I should say, of the second class." 

He took the glass from my hand — I can 
see him now, fat and florid, and as plainly 
anxious at heart as a nervous man could be. 
I thought then of all his boasts the night we 
left Lorenzo, and I was really a bit sorry for 

" Do you think she means mischief, 
Mr. Lorimer ? " he asked, with the glass still 
to his eye. 

I said that he was the best judgq of that 

" These dirty Britishers have their finger 
in every pie," he went on, presently. "Well, 
we'll make 'em look foolish. What the 
deuce are they doing in the stokehold ? Just 
let me have a word with Nicolson, will you?" 





His " word " was something to hear. A 
barge-master who had dropped his dinner 
overboard might have come up to Joey 
Castle at his best ; but I doubt it. He had 
the ship doing sixteen knots before one bell 
in the afternoon watch. She was a Belfast- 
built mail-boat, with boilers and engines 
not twelve months old, and a better for the 
purpose we could not have chartered* By 
three bells it was patent that the cruiser 
gained nothing on us. Her smoke burned 
upon a clear horizon, but her stumpy funnel 
was no longer to be seen. The captain 
seemed as pleased as a schoolboy who has 
won a race — he ordered champagne for our 
mess and he talked as big as he had done 
when we sailed from Lorenzo. 

" Here's to a good pair of heels and hoofs 
for the Britisher," was his toast "I'd like 
to see him stop me, by thunder. There'll 
be good money for this at Bremer haven, 
and more to come afterwards. Fill your 
glass, Lorimer, and drink to a sharp eye on 
the next watch. Let him come aboard just 
for five minutes, and 111 teach him the 
French language 
they speak 
out 'Frisco 
way. It's a won- 
derful tongue 
there, Lorimer, 
a wonderful 
tongue ! " 

I did not 
doubt it. Spoken 
as Joey Castle 
speaks it, a har- 
bour-master will 
take off his hat 
to you. What 
I was not so 
sure of was the 
Britisher's under- 
standing of it. 
Many a ship 
sailing out of 
Lorenzo had 
been stopped 
and searched — 
so much was 
common gossip 
aboard. If the 
cruiser over- 
hauled us, she 
would certainly 
find our million 
pounds' worth 
of ingots — 
marked " fruit " 



though they might be, kept in the great 
refrigerator for better security. 

Here was something more tangible than 
Joey Castle's French lingo. I did not know 
much about international law, but it was in 
my head that our ship would be sent to a 
British port and the gold aboard her handed 
over to the British Government With the 
crew, I had a sense of personal honour in 
the matter. If it had been my ship I would 
have sunk the Oceanus before I hauled down 
my colours to any foreigner, let her flag be 
what it might. But what the captain was 
going to do I did not know \ and thirty-six 
hours passed before I was any wiser. The 
afternoon watch taught me little. Now and 
then I saw the stumpy funnel upon the 
horizon ; at other times there was nothing 
but the handVbreadth of smoke to mark the 
cruiser's course. 

On the following day she seemed to be 
playing a game with us. First she would 
show herself clear and threatening on the 
horizon ; then we lost her again and were 
just breathing freely when up she pops, like a 

squatting hare, 
and has a good 
look at us. The 
see -saw worked 
on the captain 
like an overdose 
of French ab- 
s int he, H e 
couldn't rest a 
minute any- 
where. He 
swore and 
cursed, prayed 
and threatened, 
until I thought 
the men would 
mutiny and 
have done with 
it. That, how- 
ever, was to 
come later on, 
when the gold 
fever fairly got 
hold of them. 
They were will- 
ing enough for 
the time being. 

"What do 
you make of 
it now, Mr. 
Lorimer ? " says 
the captain at 
I an s wered 


DTH R Qira§i&al fnon 




him just as bluntly as he had asked' 

" She's got the legs of you, sir — it seems to 
me that she's waiting for something or other. 
Perhaps it's only a watching job," I put it to 

" I was thinking the same. The little man 
in the cap waiting for the big man in the 
cocked hat Well, I hope he'll keep himself 
cool. We'll give him a fever draught if he 
comes aboard. Just pass the whisky, will 
you? — my head's queer to-night; but there's a 
good deal in it — a great deal — Lorimer, and 
it's coming out by-and-by." 

I had no doubt of it — he had taken enough 
whisky that afternoon to start a bar. As for 
what was in his head, a madder scheme never 
came to any man whom fear had robbed of 
nerve and sense. 

" If the cocked hat wants to come aboard 
here, he shall," he said, presently ; " that's my 
notion, Lorimer. Let him come aboard and 
hear the French lingo. We'll do the honours 
and then drum him out. You'll be standing 
by in the launch with as much gold as she'll 
carry in her coal-holes. The life-boats can 
take the rest. You and Nicolson and the 
4 fourth ' must take charge of them. I'll pick 
you up next day and you'll have your 
compasses. There's not weather enough to 
hurt a toy yacht, and a night out will do you 
good. All this, mind you, if he has the 
heels of us and means to come aboard. 
But I don't believe he can make sixteen 
knots, and that's what we're making now." 

Well, he chuckled away over this wild 
notion just as though it had been a sane 
man's plan ; and, fuddled as he was with the 
whisky, he kept repeating it until I was tired 
of hearing it. When Billy Frost, our young 
fourth officer, came down presently to say 
that the cruiser had picked us up again and 
was using her search-light, it was a relief to 
go on deck and tot the position up. My 
belief all along had been that the cruiser 
had the legs of us, and what I saw from 
the bridge confirmed my judgment. She 
stood now upon our starboard quarter — her 
search-light ran all over us in silvery waves 
like water washing down a rock-side. And 
yet, mind you, she did not challenge us, did 
not ask us a question ; but just followed us, 
patiently waiting, I did not doubt, for some 
further instructions to be received in 
European waters. This doubt and un- 
certainty plagued our captain to the last 
point. "They shall come aboard, by Heaven," 
he said ; " ten days more of this would kill 
me." I knew then how much he had at stake, 

and that it was no mere captain's wage which 
had tempted him to carry gold from the 
Transvaal. He was playing for a bigger sum 
of money than he had ever played for in all 
his life, and the game had robbed him of his 
man's common sense. 

The cruiser's search-light contrived for a 
good hour or more to play all over us like a 
hose. It made the captain dance, I can tell 
you ; and when they dropped it just upon 
eight bells in the morning watch, I saw that 
he had come to a resolution and that nothing 
would turn him from it. 

"We must get the brass overboard, 
Lorimer," he said ; " this crew will turn 
ugly if the thing goes on. We'll make a 
beginning with the launch. Take Sam the 
nigger, Peter Barlow, and young Nicolson 
the engineer, and bear west for Ascension. 
Ill make them search us at dawn and turn 
back for you ; keep your bearings as close 
as you can and take an observation every 
hour. We should pick you up by noon 
to-morrow — I'll mark the place on the chart. 
A cockle- shell could swim in this sea, and 
the launch will come to no harm. It's a 
great scheme, man, and there's few would 
have thought of it." 

I tried to argue with him, putting it that, 
even if the cruiser did search us, she would 
have no authority to take the gold ; more- 
over, it would be an international question 
for the two Governments. He wouldn't hear 
a word of it. 

" Let 'em wrangle," he said ; " I'll hold the 
dollars meanwhile. The men will turn on 
me if I don't. Why, just look at it. They 
come aboard and find nothing but silver 
spoons. The report goes in that we are 
all right, and we steam to Bremerhaven 
without let or hindrance. It's mighty, 
man, just mighty ; and I'll not be turned 
from it" 

So he had his way. The cruiser fell back 
at the dark hour before the dawn, and we 
began to get the ingots of gold into the 
launch. This was one of Simpson's larger 
boats, carried by us especially to transport 
bullion expeditiously — part of the whole 
affair planned out from the beginning. 
Willing hands passed up the golden bars — 
we packed a fortune on the deck, and the 
men stood round about shivering with greed 
of the treasure. Let the scheme be mad or 
sane, I had to go through with it then ; 
and I own up to a better opinion of it 
as the time went on. Nothing could be 
easier to a trained seaman than to keep 
such a course as the captain laid down 




for us. We had compasses, sextants, and 
our navigation books. There was not wind 
enough to shake a judges wig nor any 
omen of bad weather* Let us get away 
under cover of the darkness, and the rest 
would be child's play* The " if " was a 
big one. The light might strike upon us at 
any instant, I went about the deck with my 
heart in my mouth. Sometimes I covered 
my eyes with my arm, fearing to find the 
bright beams upon me. It was all or nothing 
— an hour's grace or a million sterling on 
board the British ship. 

Well, we lowered the launch with her 
heavy cargo of ingots — as many of them as 
we dared to put into her — and getting her 
away under shelter of the steamer we headed 
due west toward Ascension Isle. True, there 
was an ugly red glimmer from our funnel, 
but the furnace was under a half-deck, and 
our memory didn't run to lights, be sure of 
it. I had Sam the nigger with me, together 
with Nicolson the young engineer, and 
Peter Barlow for quarter- master ; these were 
the hands named for my crew ; and I was 
not a little astonished when we were well 
away from the steamer's side to hear the 
loud voice of Mike the Irishman— a lazy 
rogue I would gladly have left behind me. 

"Why, Mike, 1 ' cries I, 4 *and how did you 
get here?' 5 

•'Please, your honour, I just dropped in/ 1 
says he. 

"Then, if I had a rope's end, I'd make 
you drop out again ! * says 1. 

"Aye, but, your honour, if says he, "when 
was the Irishman born that had any liking 
for the water? Sure, I always loved ye from 
the first day I clapped these blessed eyes 
upon ye! Tit go aboard to take care of 
him/ says I, ' for I feel like his own mother's 

There was no time to argue with him, 
What with getting the launch away neatly, 
and being mortal afraid to find myself any 
minute in the path of the cruiser's search- 
light, I had too much to do to begin with 
a hullabaloo — and for that matter the 
situation was not one to set a man against 
companionship. There we were, the five of 
us, in a boat not built for ocean seas, 
running like a good one away from the ship 
that should have carried us to Europe and 
our homes. Let the search-light be clapped 
upon us, and the gold would be aboard the 
British cruiser within an hour. Or, in 
another case and a harder one, let the wind 
blow, and what then ? The gold weighed us 

LiW^g+e 6 





down as it was, until even gentle seas 
splashed us as we lifted to them. A hatful 
of wind would sink us; a shoreman would 
have known that. I believed that it was the 
spin of a coin anyway ; and just as I 
was saying it the cruiser showed her light 
again, and a great white arc fixed itself 
upon the distant steamer like a mighty river 
of molten radiance flowing out upon a 
darkened sea. 

"Look at that for a lantern now," says 
Mike the Irishman, cowering before it. 
" 'Twould see ye home from a waking, and 
no mistake about it. Just douk your head, 
sir, if you please. Twould be as well not 
to be on speaking terms with them when 
next ye meet." 

I smiled at his notion that any amount of 
" douking " would save us from the cruiser's 
light, but instinctively I crouched down with 
the others. To me it seemed impossible 
that any freak of fortune could hide us from 
the cruiser's observation. * There we were in 
the still sea, a black speck, no doubt, but 
one that a clever eye on a warship's bridge 
would never fail to spy out. Our own steamer, 
the Oceanus, was running north as fast as 
honest engines could drive her. She, too, 
appeared now to be just a shimmer of 
dancing lights — the captain showed every 
lantern he had got to divert the chase from 
the launch, and here he succeeded only too 

Though it was all Lombard Street to a 
china orange that the cruiser marked us, she 
held on obstinately after the bigger game. 
Perhaps she believed that it was all a sham 
and that we had put off to make a fool of 
her. I never learned ; but I could scarcely 
believe my eyes when the blinding light 
swept over them and still nothing happened. 
Were they all daft aboard her ? It was really 

"The admiral's having his hair cut, I 
suppose," said Barlow the quarter -master, 
who watched the affair with me from a seat 
aft. " He's telling 'em to keep it short in 
the neck, sir — some day a dog will be leading 
him at the end of a string. Well, I don't 
make no complaint about that." 

" Better not, my man," said I, " if you 
wish to see the Oceanus again." 

"Oh, as to that, we're well enough off 
here, sir," he said, turning away his eyes 
from me ; " though if we never saw Captain 
Castle again, I reckon we'd have meat and 
drink for the rest of our lives." 

I looked at him sharply ; he coughed and 
glanced down at the compass. This was 

the first time I quite understood how well 
the hands were acquainted with the cargo 
and its owners. The danger of the know- 
ledge could not be hidden from me. Even 
the nigger Sam, with his blinking green eyes, 
ate up every word of our talk and smacked 
his lips over it 

" You buy barrel of rum and no mistake, 
sar," he chimed in, unasked. " You change 
your Sunday shirt on Monday and blarm 
the expense. We all very rich gentlemen, 

I turned it with a laugh, though I was well 
aware of the reservation behind it. Happily, 
but for a bottle of brandy of my own, there 
was no drink on the launch. I had a 
revolver in my pistol-pocket, and I said that 
at the worst, which was then but a suspicion, 
I could keep both the nigger and Peter in 
order. Mike the Irishman might go any 
way ; but Nicolson, the young engineer, 
could certainly be counted upon. To him I 
said a word when two of the hands had been 
ordered to turn in. His answer was reassur- 
ing, but more ambiguous than I liked. 

"Oh," he said, "anything to help the 
Dutchmen. They'll miss this odd lot if we 
lose it — and, of course, we're all honest, 
Lorimer. Don't you be uneasy. I've no 
fancy for gilded firesides myself; besides," 
he added, " if we took our oaths that we had 
to jettison it, who'd believe us ? Better go 
straight under the circumstances." 

I replied that there were no circumstances 
possible to make common rogues of us, and 
his cheery assent did much to deceive me. 
Counting upon him entirely, I let the launch 
simply drift while he lay down for a couple 
of hours' sleep, and afterwards I wrapped 
myself up in a blanket and managed to get 
some rest. When I awoke it was broad day- 
light. An immensely round sun fired the 
placid water with sheets of crimson splendour ; 
the air came heavy from the Equator ; a 
burning, intolerable day seemed before us. 
Restless and anxious already to be sure of 
our bearings, that the Oceanus might find us 
at noon, I bustled up almost as soon as I 
was awake ; but the first thing I saw took my 
breath away, and I just stood like a man in 
a wonder-world to watch it. There amid- 
ships, in the well where the money was 
stored, Sam the nigger, Mike the Irishman, 
and Nicolson the engineer were grouped 
about a box of golden ingots, and so trans- 
ported with the sight of them that they 
scarcely heard me. One by one they had 
laid out those shimmering yellow bars, each a 
fortune to such men ; and they watched the 




sunlight glittering upon them, and caressed 
them with gentle hands and feasted their eyes 
upon them. When I appeared^ no man 
budged from his place or seemed in any way 
abashed. Evidently they were all agreed 
upon a purpose, and this Nicolson made 
known to me. 

"Yes," he said, coolly; "we're counting 
up the dollars, old chap — divide on shore, 
you know — fair and square. Come, don't 
look blue. The Dutchman won't miss them, 
and old Joey's made his own bargain. We 
can rig up a tale between us and buy the 
crowd at Ascen- 
s i on — good 
joke, isn't it, 
Lorimer ? " 

"Why, yes," 
said I ; u but, 
as my port's not 
Ascension, I 
don't quite see 
the point of it. 
Come, Nicolson, 
don't be a fool. 
Just put that 
lid on and help 
me to go over 
the chart, We 
mustn't keep the 
captain waiting 
— y o u know 
what he is." 

Very lazily, I 
thought, he put 
the lid on the 
box of ingots, 
and, laughing at 
the others, he 
came aft with 
me. When I 
took up the chart 
to make a dead 
reckoning by the 
help of his own 


during my w T atch 

off, he laughed again in his peculiar way. 
"It's all right," he said; "due west for 
Ascension, as you wished." 

"Nicolson," I said, quietly, "you've been 
playing a fool's game ; what does it mean ? n 

He sat on the gunnel and looked me full 
in the face. 

" Means that our port is Ascension," he 

I kept my temper. 

"Nicolson," I said, "do you wish me to 
think you a scoundrel?" 


"Think what you like; there are four 
in this launch who don't mean Joey Castle 
to touch these dollars again," 

I turned away from him, wrestling with 
my temper, 

" 'Bout ship ! B I cried Barlow took no 
notice whatsoever. then my hand went 
to my pistol-pocket and I knew the worst. 
They had taken the revolver wiiile I slept* 
I was one against four, and the launch was 
running over a calm sea to Ascension 
Isle and the discovery which inevitably 
awaited us there, ,yj 

We steamed all 
that day upon 
a fair sea, but at 
sundown the 
truth came out 
We had not coal 
enough for an- 
other hour's run 
and were still a 
hundred miles 
from Ascension, 
I watched the 
faces of the men 
when Nicolson 
told them. They 
seemed to care 
nothing. The 
gold greed was 
upon them ; the 
ingots were piled 
up everywhere 
about the launch 
and the hands 
hugged them as 
children, dearer 
than anything 
afloat or ashore. 
Nicolson got 
curses for his 
pains and went 
below again, 

I watched the 
scene gloomily 
from the stern — it was beginning to 
dawn upon me that no man would see 
land again ; and when an hour and a 
half had passed and the engines of the 
launch suddenly stopped I could not 
call myself a pessimist. The hands them- 
selves, awed by the mishap, began to 
talk of sailing ships which would pick them 
up and of a story they must have ready. 
Nicolson was to be the captain of a ship 
which had stranded ; Barlow was his mate. 
They did not- -frame me ; and, as the day 

ey did 





is my witness, I believe they intended to 
murder me. 

You may think that this sent a man to his 
supper with a good appetite. Truth to tell, 
I lay down in my blanket at ten o'clock and 
never expected to see the sun again. A 
shadow passing by me, a voice, a whisper, 
made me start like a frightened hare. Once 
I found the nigger Sam bending over me, 
and I jumped up, wet through with perspira- 
tion. Even a child would have seen that 
these madmen, lost to all sense of reason, 
would never take me ashore with them. 
Then when would they make an end of it ? 
Soon, I hoped, if it must be. The suspense 
was making an old man of me. Every evil 
glance that was turned upon me seemed like 
a warning anew. I believe to this hour that 
they would have shot me before dawn but 
for the wind, the truest friend a man ever 
had in the hour of his need. Yes, to the 
wind and the sea, twin brothers to a sailor, 
I owed my life. It began to blow about 
seven bells in the first watch, and by dawn 
the waves were running as they run on 
no other ocean but the Atlantic. Laden as 
w r e were, deep down in the seas, our chances 
of weathering the gale may be imagined. 
Had we still owned a fire the first wash over 
would have snuffed it out. The good launch 
staggered at every blow, Ulje a boxer badly 
hit. I said that the gold must go — and not 
a man aboard who did not know that I spoke 
the truth. 

I have witnessed some strange scenes in 
my life — niggers running amuck in St. Louis, 
French sailors among the drink in a panic, 
a liner sinking with more than a hundred 
women aboard; but for honest madness 
about money the scene on that launch defies 
my words. No sooner was it plain that we 
should sink if we could not raise her in the 
water than the men (but chiefly the Irishman 
and the nigger Sam) got the gold open again 
and fell on it, blubbering and raving like 
children. Drink they had from somewhere, 
that I was sure of — even Nicolson the 
engineer showed the whites of his eyes when 
he.. staggered up to them; and what with 
their terror of the sea, their greed of the 
gold, and the whisky they had drunk, they 
might have been raving madmen let loose 
from Bedlam. 

I said that the launch could not last 
another hour. The shrieking of the wind, 
the monster green seas gathered up in walls 
of jade-like water, the great hollows into 
which we went rushing like a switchback, 
cascades of foam and spindrift, the scudding 

masses of cloud, they terrified these wretched 
men, and would have appalled the heart of 
the strongest. If we were to have any hope 
at all, the gold must go. Again I said it ; 
and fearful for my own life, yet caring 
nothing what they might do to me, I 
stepped forward and addressed them. 

" This is your share and share alike, is it?" 
I cried—" the little bit that Joey Castle will 
not miss. Well, it's got to go overboard, my 
lads, and pretty soon about it. Nicolson, 
you're no fool ; Barlow, you know how long 
the game can last. Do you want to live or 
die ? It's come to that, as you pretty well 

They heard me in sullen silence. A big 
wave catching the launch amidships heeled 
her so far over that I thought she w r ould 
never recover. It threw Nicolson off his 
feet ; and as he fell and turned over my own 
revolver dropped from his pocket. You 
need not ask me if I snatched it up. It w T as 
in my hand and smoking before ten seconds 
had passed. And there was one man less 
upon the launch. 

So it came about. The great Irishman, 
standing ankle-deep in the gold, leaped out 
upon me when the launch righted herself. 
What quite happened I can scarcely tell you, 
but I know that I felt his colossal arms 
crushing the life out of me and that I saw it 
was his hour or mine. Then a report rang 
loud in my ears, and I >vas free once more ; 
while the man tumbled backward, clutching at 
the air ; and the sea engulfed him, and there 
were four in peril where five had been. From 
that moment the fear of Cod, I do believe, fell 
upon the others. The£ neither spoke nor 
stirred for many minutes together. The 
terrible wind howled its wildest — the heavens 
were black as night. I said that the sea was 
with me, and, crying out to them to save them- 
selves, I began to drop the ingots overboard. 

One by one, each a fortune to a poor man, 
we cast the gold bars into the ocean. That 
which would have meant so much to us 
ashore meant nothing here in the face of 
death and the storm. And yet I could not 
but think of the pleasures this very dross (as 
it seemed there upon the high seas) would 
give to many a home, to honest toilers and 
starving children in the great cities I had 
known. Nevertheless, it must be swallowed 
by the green water, lost for ever upon the 
bed of the Atlantic. And moment by 
moment the launch rose higher and higher 
upon the mountainous seas, like a bird that 
has been weighed down but now is free. I 
began to tell them that we should make 




Ascension Isle after all. I did not know 
that we should have no need to make it 
The last of the ingots had been cast over- 

" What you seek is a thousand fathoms 
clown," said I, a little bitterly; "you don't 
need to usk me why/' 


board, the wind had begun to fall, when the 
British cruiser picked us up. There was no 
need for explanations- She had searched 
the Oceanu s at dawn and seized her treasure 
before Joey Castle could get what was left of 
it away- She knew that we had ingots for our 
cargo, and she followed us westward- We went 
aboard her to laugh at the chagrin of her 
commander and to show him our empty well. 

" Mr. Lorimer," he cried, with a smile, " if 
all the gold in the world were in the same 
place, what a pleasant place this old globe 
would be to live on t "' 

I knew what he meant — but, after all, if 
men weren't cutting each other's throats for 
gold they would be doing the same for shells 
or silver or other rubbish, as any philosopher 
will tell you. 

VoL aivii.-22 

by Google 

Original from 

Our Grandmothers Fashion - Plates. 

By Arabella Drysdalk-Davis. 

HAT philosopher being pro 
pounded the query, " Which 
are the most popular pictures 
in the world ? " could reply 
other than " Fashion-plates * ? 
Are they not rapturously 
studied and admired weekly by millions of 
women? Do they not elicit the furtive 
interest — not un mingled, perhaps, with 
astonishment — of millions of men? 

" Grotesque forecasts of ephemeral plumes 
and deciduous fig- 
leaves," as a famous 
novelist, Kingsley, 
called fashion- 
plates, are only an 
invention of less 
than a century and a 
quarter ago, A lady of 
the olden time, who 
wished to learn the 
very latest mode in 
skirts, bodices, hats, 
bonnets, or shoes, 
betook herself at 
certain seasons to her 
dressmaker, where 
dressed poupies 
straight from Paris 
were on view. The 
making and dressing 
of these dolls was 
quite a business in 
the French capital 
before coloured 
fashion-plates came 
to oust them from 
favour in the closing 
years of Louis XVI.'s 
reign. Prior to this 
period drawings of fashionably-attired ladies 
had appeared from time to time in the maga- 
zines and periodicals devoted to the interests 
of the fair sex — such as the first in the present 
series, showing a lady in full dress for 1770 
- and these may have imparted to country 
cousins an idea of what was being worn in 
the Faubourg St. Germain and May fair — but 
the beau mondc never relied on these. 

It is probable that the earliest coloured 
examples were produced in 1784-85. In the 
latter year the Cabinet des Modes appeared in 
Paris, consisting of twenty-four parts annually, 
three coloured designs with each part. In 
England many years before we had had the 
Ladys Magazine ^ which had devoted much 
space to dress, but seems to have just missed 
the idea of fashion - plates, although its 
descriptions of current modes are often most 
diverting, '* Dress," it says, in its very first 

number, " is like the 
sunshine introduced 
into the designs of 
Titian : it animates 
the figures and gives 
them all their em- 

"The hoop or 
circumference of 
charms," we read in 
1785, u is a most 
essential part of con- 
temporary costume. 
The magnificence of 
the full-dress hoop 
carries with it a 
most noble and 
majestic appearance, 
and I hope will 
never be given up 
or kors de fa mode 
as long as England 
can boast of such 
fine women as 
appear within the 
circle of a Drawing 

But the French 
Revolution burst 
into boudoirs and salons and " the hoop or 
circumference of charms " disappeared, and 
in the next few years was witnessed an entire 
change of style. 

Here is a simple little afternoon dress for 
1 796 : " The hair dressed in light curls and 
ringlets; Armenian turban, made of white and 
York flame-coloured satin, crossed in the 
front with two strings of pearls, and the ends 




trimmed with gold fringe; a white ostrich 
and a blue esprit feather on the left side ; 
Armenian robe of embroidered muslin, the 
train with a broad hem ; full short sleeves ; 
trimming of blond round the neck and at 
the top of the sleeves ; tucker of blond ; 

gold cord with two large tassels round the 
waist, tied at the left side ; two strings of 
pearls, and a festoon gold chain with a 
medallion round the neck \ diamond ear- 
rings; white shoes and gloves." 

In iSoq we read that the newest fashion is 
"a simple blue tunic, bound by tassels at the 
waist" "Nothing is now so elegant as a 
straw hat : they are worn either ornamented 
with the flower called convolvulus or coloured 
like a shell," " Ribbons are worn either 
clouded or striped; the latter are nankeen." 

It is strange that, notwithstanding the 
horror which the conduct of the French 
had excited throughout Europe, and especi- 
ally in England, there should be found any 
votaries of French fashions, It is even 




* : 



stranger that, while French modes were still 
worn with us, in France there was a general 
adoption, in 1802, of English fashions such 
as are shown herewith for that year. " The 
head-dress for undress," we read, " is fre- 
quently only a piece of muslin, sometimes 
enlivened with pearls. In full dress turbans 
are principally worn." 

Our next illustration forecasts the fashions 
for 1806* " Never was there a period that 
exhibited a greater variety of female decora- 
tions than the present ; and it is as difficult 
to find a costume to condemn as to describe 
one that has a decided preference," Never- 
theless we find men's large beaver hats 
already in vogue. What will ladies of 1904 
think of the following : u Morning Walking 
Dress. — A plain muslin dress, walking length, 





made high in front and forms a shirt 
collar, richly embroidered ; long sleeves, 
also embroicjorfed round the wris,t£ and 
at the bottom of the^dress; a pelisse 
opera coat without any seam in back, 
composed of orange blossom 
tinged with brown, made of 
Angola doth - or sarsnet, 
trimmed with^ 1 rich Chin- 
cheally fur, tipped with gold. 
The pelisse sets close to the 
form on one side, fastened 
on the right shoulder with a 
brooch,' 4 

It seems" odd that there 
was ever a time when there 
were public defenders of false 
complexions for ladies ; yet 
we find in La Be Ik Asstmhlh 
for March, iSq6, a writer 
pleading in favour of rouge, 
" which may be rendered ex- 
tremely innocent, and may 
be applied with such art as 
sometimes to give an expres- 
sion to the figure which it 
would never have without 
that auxiliary. The colour of 
modesty has many charms ; 
and in an age when women 
blush so little ought we not 
to value this innocent artifice, 
which is capable at least of rvuiijfc< 

exhibiting to us the picture of modesty? We 
ought to be thankful to the sex which, in the 
absence of estimable virtue, knows at least how 
to preserve its portrait" 

In this fashion-plate for 1809 we see a lady very 
coolly attired in a white jaconot frock— somewhat 
scanty and diaphanous— and rejoicing in a gor- 
geous parasol Here is the exact description \ — 


a vu- w ok uMrtfANui/s ukakekiks, 1E09. 

" Promenade Costume. — 
A white jaconot muslin high 
dress, with long sleeves and 
collar of needlework ; treble 
flounces of plaited muslin 
round the be A torn \ wrist and 
collar confined with a silk 
cord and tassel The hair 
disposed in the Eastern style, 
with a fancy flower in front 
or on one side. A Vittoria 
cloak, or Pyrennean mantle, 
of pomona - green sarsnet, 
trimmed with Spanish fringe 
of a correspondent shade, and 
confined in graceful folds on 
the left shoulder. A white 
lace veil thrown over the head- 
dress. A large Eastern para- 
sol, the colour of the mantle, 
with deep Chinese awning. 
Roman shoe, or Spanish 
*- slipper, of pornona-green kid, 
j or jean. Gloves of primrose 
te ® ri ^8toiolo U red kid." 



One is perpetually surprised at 
the scantiness of the attire of 
those days. It offers such a con- 
trast to the rotundity of the hoop 
or * 4 circumference of fashion," or 
to the later crinoline. For 1809 
bonnets have suddenly assumed 
gigantic dimensions— as in the 
picture herewith — but the ques- 
tion amongst the fair sex doubt- 
less was, Will they last? 

In turning over the thousands 
of fashion - plates of the first 
quarter of the last century one is 
constantly confronted by designs 
bearing such titles as ** Costume 
for the Seaside/' "Toilette for 
the Seaside/ 1 " Dress for the 
Seashore*" Seaside in those days 
meant Margate, Weymouth, and 
Scarborough; and we naturally 
expect to fmd trim little frocks, 
accompanied by tight sailor hats, capable of 
withstanding the stiffest breeze. But instead 
of this we find transparent flowing gossamers 
and top-lofty turbans, which would never 
weather the mildest gale. 


About the same time we read : 
" As our families of rank are fast 
migrating either to their country 
stats or some fashionable water- 
ing-place, and as the Metropolis 
at this season offers little of novel 
elegance save an occasional dis- 
play at Yauxhall, we shall follow 
the varying goddess to all her 
favourite haunts, and contem- 
plate her fair votaries as they 
ramble on the sea-shore, saunter 
on the lawns, or lounge at the 
libraries, as they grace the 
dijtuni) animate the social party, 
or illume the theatre and ball- 

Of our next illustration (i8to) 
we may glean a notion from the 
following extract from a contem- 
porary fashion letter : — 

" Mantles and coats of green 
vigonia or merino cloth of various shades, 
from the sober hue of the Spanish fly to the 
more lively pea-green, have succeeded to the 
purple, which, though a colour most pleasing 
in itself, is now become too general to find a 









narrow gold edging of flat braid. 

are decorated with borders of coloured 


Albeit every year sees the attire grow- 
ing less scanty— even the fashions for 
1 8 1 1 display more generous draperies ; 
besides which the latter are flank ed and 
reinforced by huge muffs now coming 

place in a select 
wardrobe. Scarlet 
cloaks are no longer 
seen on genteel 
women, except as 
wraps for the thea- 
tres ; the satiated 
eye turns, over- 
powered by their 
universal glare, to 
rest on more chaste 
and more refreshing 
shades. Mantles 
and pelisses are now 
considered more 
elegant when trim- 
med with gold or 
silver lace, or bind- 
ing ; or with black 
velvet, bound or 
laid flat, and which 
is sometimes 
finished at its ter- 
minations with a 




into vogue and 
recently made 
familiar to us 
in Mr, Burrie's 
plavof "Quality 
Street." Ac- 
companied, as 
they occasion- 
ally were, by 
huge beaver 
hats, these Gar- 
gantuan muffs 
which must 
surely have re- 
quired the t>ehs 
of more than 
one fox to pro- 
duce, if not of 
an entire bear 
— demanded 
all the atten- 


tion from their fair wearers, as well as from the 
gallants of the day. The next illustration shows a 
carriage dress, conveniently short, for 1811. 

Coal-scuttle bonnets are likewise growing In 
favour, as may be seen by the picture at the top 
of this page. Still more interesting is the style of 
coiffure of the period. Nothing more fantastic, 
we venture to say, ever came out of the brain of 
the most imaginative coiffeur. YVe especially call 
the attention of those readers who inveigh against 
the over-elaboration of twentieth-century head- 
dressing to the rear view, of the bottom right hand 
elegant craniuntT^P"" resembles nothing 

G*; J 





closely than a bouquet of turnips, carrot s> and 
other homely vegetables. 

When we approach the " twenties " we are 
fain to perceive more gravity in the fashions 
of the day. Indeed, nothing could well be 
more grave — we might even say more 
awkward — than the back view of the (doubt 
less) charming lady of the above illustration. 
It certainly does not suggest the lightness and 
lissom grace of the earlier designs. What a 
great change the fashions have undergone 
since 1809 maybe seen by the plate for 1829. 

Here we doubtless confront just such a 
pair of fashionable ladies as are described 
in the pages of Dickens, Bulwer, and 
Disraeli, with their Liliputian ruffs — which 
fortunately did not become a permanent 


fashion— their leg-of-mutton sleeves, and 
quintuple rows of lace "insertion," We 
are fain to speculate upon the countenance 
of one of these pre -Victorian young ladies. 

Dig 1 "izc 

, " Original from 




FAS I lit INFLATE FOR 1&37' AtTRIUUTfiD tU ,( FHiZ." 

for it is wholly obscured by a magnificently- 
plumed "blush-concealer," as the coal-scuttle 
bonnets were facetiously called. 

In order that our fair readers may have a 
peep at the dress of the juvenile portion of 
the community in that same year, we give 
a spirited drawing from a French fashion 
journal The costume may perhaps hardly 
commend Itself to the children of 1904, but 
it doubtless 
appeared quite 
appropriate to the 
ma mm as of the 
time, as well as to 
the artist. As to 
the artists of these 
fashion- plates, it 
must be remem- 
bered that they 
were usually strug- 
gling young paint- 
ers and draughts- 
men, who were 
glad to get work 
of this kind, and 
many of them 
afterwards became 
famous. Both 
Dore and Meis- 
sonier drew 
fashions for the 


magazines and Cabinets des Modes of their 
day. Moreover, our own Hablot K. Browne 
("Phiz ") was responsible for many such, the 
accompanying plate for 1837 being attri- 
buted to him ; while there is no doubt of 
John Leech's authorship of the fashion-plate 
for 1 85 1, which we also reproduce. 

Before we approach the "sixties," with 
their extraordinary revival of the hoop or 





crinol ine 
fashion, we 
must remark 
on the extra- 
plate pro- 
mulgat e d 
for the year 
1854. What 
would the 
ladies say to 
such a tyran- 
nical dictate 
of fashion 
to-day ? It 
is inconeeiv- 
able now ; 
but many a 

fair dame and damsel seeing 
it in that year must inwardly 
have fj naked with terror at 
the prospect of facing her 
beloved Adolphus in Bloo- 
mer ian garb. Happily, the 
prophets proved false for 
once- and the fashion passed 
away, just as a year or two 
ago the threatened crinoline 
scare passed away with us. 
Crinoline had to run its 
course — although not before 
it had been guilty of many 
enormities, as will be seen by 
the appended plate* The 
ladies' heads herein appear 
but as the apexes of pyra- 
mids; and the singular cut of 
the bodices and the rotundity 
of the young ladies' skirts 
appear U> us. in this age, 

On the whole, it may be 
our vanity and seirsufficiency, 
or it may be our superior 
taste ; but to us it seems 
{and we trust the reader, 
on comparing the s e 
fashion-plates of our grand- 
mothers with the last of our 
series — that 
for 1904- 
will agree 
with us) that 
however our 
past genera- 
tions dress- 
e d , and 
Worth and 
Paquin have 
in store for 
the future, 
our English 
girl of the 
present has 
decided 1 . y 
the best of 
the sartorial 


(By courtesy of Messrs* Weldorvs Lid.) 

Yu Jtxvj.— S3* 

by Google 

Original from 

A Willing Scape -Goat. 

By S. B. Robinson. 

ACK SELDEN only half sup- 
pressed an exclamation of 
angry despair by a simulated 
fit of coughing, as he read 
at breakfast the solitary letter 
that had fallen to his share 
from the mail- bag. It was not pleasant 
reading : it was a thinly-veiled command to 
pay, within three days, a card and betting 
debt to the tune of two hundred pounds. 

He raised his face, from which the colour 
had fled, and glanced furtively round at the 
other occupants of the table, as he crushed 
the letter into his pocket. 

His father, Dr. Selden, a tall, grey, ascetic- 
looking man — blind for some years through 
a disease of the optic nerve — had not noticed 
the exclamation ; neither had Madge West- 
brook, his fiancie^ a handsome girl, who 
chanced to be too deeply occupied with her 
duties of hostess, in the absence of Miss 
Selden, the doctor's sister. Cyril Wayne, a 
fair, resolute-looking young fellow of Jack's 
age, the doctor's amanuensis, was the only 
one of the trio who had perceived the 

Jack dropped his eyes guiltily, and made 
a show of continuing his meal while he men- 
tally reviewed the situation. It seemed to 
be a desperate one, and he cursed his fate. 
He could expect no assistance from his 
father. A college career that had resulted 
in nothing but heavy debts was too fresh in 
his memory for that. Jack had been told 
by his exasperated parent that never again 
would he receive assistance beyond his ample 
allowance ; and, further, that the bulk of the 
property would go to Madge, the doctor's 
niece. Jack could only, in a sense, become 
his father's heir by marrying his cousin when 
she came of age. 

At the time this arrangement had been 
made Madge had acquiesced to her share in 
it without any effort and, indeed, without 
much thought. It pleased her uncle, and 
that had been enough to decide her. As for 
Jack, he would have preferred a free hand ; 
but since he was not to have it he consoled 
himself with the thought that Madge was a 
very presentable encumbrance. 

But the arrival of Cyril Wayne at High- 
bank — the country residence which the 
doctor had occupied since his blindness — 

Digitized by ^OOQ Ic 

had opened a new chapter in Madge's un- 
eventful life. The new-comer, intelligent, 
accomplished, masterful, made a startling 
contrast to the weak-willed, illiterate Jack, 
who was intellectually lost when he ventured 
outside the precincts of the stable. 

The result of the companionship into which 
Madge and Cyril insensibly drifted was as 
inevitable as the course of time. There was 
no one to warn them of the danger. The 
doctor could not see it ; Miss Selden was too 
deeply engrossed in her charities, and Jack 
in his own affairs. There came a moment 
then when the pair found out for themselves 
how imperceptible is the boundary some- 
times that separates friendship and love. 
Madge discovered with horror that her 
thoughtless promise was repugnant to her, 
and Cyril that he was in love" with another 
man's betrothed ! The pleasant intercourse 
was broken from that moment, without a 
word of explanation on either side. 

With Cyril Wayne this discovery could 
only have one result : he immediately com- 
menced his preparations for leaving High- 
bank, sore in heart and self-respect. 

This morning at breakfast Jack's stifled 
exclamation had warned him that some 
mischief was afoot, and he was anxious to 
know what it was. What concerned Jack 
concerned Madge, alas ! When the meal 
was concluded, instead of at once following 
the doctor to his study he stepped through 
the open French window on to the terrace, 
where the enfant prodtgue had already pre- 
ceded him. 

He was standing at the stone balustrade 
reperusing his letter. When he heard Cyril's 
footsteps on the flags behind him he started, 
crushed the paper in his hand, and turned 

" Jack, I want to speak to you for a few 
moments," said Cyril, as he advanced. 

"What's up?" asked Jack, shortly. He 
thrust the letter into his pocket and took out 
his pipe. 

41 Well " Cyril hesitated a moment to 

ransack his brain for some reasonable pretext ; 
then it occurred to him that it was nearly a 
certainty his listener's trouble was a pecuniary 
one. To feign a like predicament lor him- 
self might evoke Jack's confidence. 

" Well," said hfta|'ft<yr ant you to lend me 



r 79 

twenty-five pounds, I'm hard pressed for it 
at this moment." 

Madge had approached the window to 
speak to Jack. She caught Cyril Wayne's 
remark, and, drawing back at once, turned 
away unperceived by both of the young men. 

Jack fell an easy prey to the trap that had 
been laid for him* He gazed at Cyril in 
astonishment and let the match he had 
lighted die out in his hand 


" Lend you twenty-five pounds ? Great 
Scot! 5 ' he exclaimed. 

"Yes/ 1 

u Twenty-five pounds ! You've come to 
the wrong shop this time, old man ! ?; Then 
he suddenly lowered his voice and bent 
his head forward, anxiously. " Can you tell 
me where I can get just eight times that 
amount?" he asked. " I want it badly." 

fi Oh ! So that is the reason for the letter 
you received just now ? " 

jack nodded his head and flushed. 

"Two hundred pounds !" exclaimed Cyril, 
aghast " Let me hear the whole business," 
he continued. ** I can't lend you the money, 
but I may be able to suggest something/' 

It was the same old story of betting and 

Digitized by CpOOQIC 

cards, Cyril had heard it all before, in the 
same stumbling phraseology of contrition, 
" And the brute gives me only three days — 
three days, or he will write to the governor/' 
concluded Jack, turning suddenly savage. 

"Then forestall him," replied Cyril, "for 
as far as I can see there is no remedy but to 
ask your father to help you out of the mire 
once more," 

u Ask the governor ? You can just bet 
I shan't do that/' said 
Jack, sullenly. He thrust 
his hands deep into his 
pockets and stared hard 
at the ground, 

"Then, no money- 
lenders," replied Cyril. 
" It will only make bad 
worse. Come ! " He 
caught Jack by the arm. 
(1 Make a clean breast of 
it to your father. He 
has much more than the 
sum you require in the 
house at present, and 
you may not find him 
so difficult as you 

Jack started. More 
money than he required 
for his wants in the house ! 
So near him ! Oh, if he 
only had it ! He shook 
his arm free with impa- 

"No, no, I sha'n't do 
that," said he. 

-Very well," said 
Cyril. "But you will do 
nothing without consult 
ing me? Is that under- 
Jack nodded his head and, turning quickly, 
stared blindly across the fields that sloped 
and stretched from the terrace. He didn't 
see them. His brain was working just then 
as it had never worked before. Cyril's words 
about the money had raised a sudden storm 
of temptation in him which seemed to carry 
him out of himself. He must try to think- 
to decide 

Ar midnight Cyril turned in, but could not 
sleep; his thoughts were too busily occupied 
with Madge, Jack, and the present uncer- 
tainty of his own future. He had heard the 
clock in the little sitting-room adjoining 
chime every hour from midnight to three. 
Then a strange thing happened As he lay 
broad awake in the dark, a slender pencil of 




yellow light stole across the carpet from his 
door. Jack's room was next to his. He 
heard no sound in the corridor, though he sat 
up in his bed and listened intently. The 
pencil of light remained stationary a few 
moments, then wavered, and finally, sweep- 
ing slowly round the room, disappeared. 

Something prompted Cyril to rise and 
investigate. Putting on his 
dressing-gown and slippers, 
he noiselessly crossed his 
room and looked out. The 
feeble yellow light was 
dancing on the ceiling of 
the corridor, but the bearer 
of it, unseen, was already de 
scending the broad oak stair- 

Cyril hurried quietly along 
the corridor and, looking 
over the balustrade, saw 
Jack. He was at the foot 
of the stairs, and about 
to enter the lower corridor. 

Cyril remained where he 
was in the darkness a few 
moments, when the light 
began to reappear and a 
cool breath of air swept up 
the stair. 

Jack must have opened 
the French window which 
gave access to the garden, 
He now approached the 
foot of the stair with 
stealthy tread ; but, instead 
of mounting it, he passed on 
in the direction of the other 
Cyril felt in siinctively 
that something was wrong, and descending 
the stairs he followed in Jack's wake 
Turning the corner of the corridor he was 
just in time to see the young man insert 
a key in the lock of the study door, and 
then enter. 

By the time Cyril had arrived Jack had 
placed his candle on the writing-table and 
was stooping, with his back to the door, in 
front of his father's safe, which he had just 

This safe was of peculiar construction. 
For the convenience of the doctor it opened 
by means of the simple pressure of a small 
button in the wainscot. But the room 
in itself w T as a safe, for the door was of steel 
with a powerful lock, and the one window 
was heavily shuttered within and barred 

Digitized by LjOOQ It 

All unconscious of a watcher, Jack was 
cautiously engaged in disconnecting the wires 
switched on to an alarm in the doctor's room 
above, when Cyril, unable to contain his 
feelings any longer, stepped forward, 

" Jack ! " he exclaimed, sternly, " what is 
the meaning of this ? " 

Jack bounded to his feet in horror. His 


hand fell nervelessly from the stud he had 
been manipulating, and, catching in one of 
the drawers, drew it partially open. It was 
sufficient to actuate the mechanism. A faint 
whirr In the room above responded to the 
movement of the drawer ; and at the same 
time the study door, as if impelled by an 
invisible hand, swung quickly to and closed 
with a faint click. 

The two young men were prisoners There 
was no means of e^rc^ except by the dour, 
and that could only be opened now from the 
outside. The doctor's burglar trap had ftil 
filled its puq lose admirably. 

For the space of two or three moments 
the pair stood motionless facing each other 
jack had gripped the back of the doctor's 
study chair and was staring with haggard 
eyes at the ffl«rt|in3tfiBftlirfeuddenly, with a 




half-frenzied exclamation, he threw himself 
at it and tore desperately with his fingers at 
its smooth, hard surface, It was of no use, 
He fell back with a groan of despair and, 
dropping heavily into a chair, covered his 
face with his hands, 

11 Good Heaven ! My father ! — Madge ! 
What will they think of me ? " said he, 
hoarsely, as he passed his hand over his 
damp forehead. * l Oh, 1 must have been 
mad — mad ! " 

Cyril Wayne looked down at the wretched 
Jack, half pitying, half despising him. Was 
this crouching, would-be thief to become 
Madge's husband ? What a match ! Was it 
not for the best that the innocent girl should 
be undeceived before it was too late? But 
the cruelty of it ! He shrank involuntarily 
from the idea of witnessing the death blow 
that was to be dealt at her affection. He 
pictured to himself a misery, an anguish, a 
hundred fold greater than this cowering 
wretch was capable of feeling. Oh, it was 

"Jack!" said he, stooping suddenly and 
shaking the abject figure by the shoulder. 
"Look up, man ! Do you hear?" 

Jack lifted his head and stared at Cyril 

** Just collect your wits and listen to me," 
said Cyril, imperiously, as he fixed Jack's 
gaze with his own. "If you get out of this 
scrape scot- 
iit^ — -you un- 
derstand?" — 
Jack nodded 
hungrily — 
"will you 
swear never 
to touch a 
card or back a 
horse again?" 

" Get out 
of it? Oh, 
Wayne — ■ 
Cyril, old 
man, how? 
How?" im- 
plored Jack, 
with tremb- 
ling lips, half 
rising from 
his seat, 

Cyril push- 
ed him back 
"That is not 
the answer I 
want.' 1 said T« m THE ciuidom 

he. He repeated his question. " Do you 
swear?" he asked. "Quick E Quick, man! 
I can hear footsteps, A moment more and 
it won't matter what you say," 

" Yes, yes, I swear, I swear I " repeated 
Jack, fervently, as he gulped down something 
that had risen in his throat 

w Very good I M Cyril's grasp closed like a 
steel vice on his shoulder "Jack Selden," 
continued the young man, sternly, " what 1 
am going to do I shall do for Madge's- — your 
cousin's — sake; but if you foil to keep that 
oath you have just made, do you know that 
you will be the meanest 3 pitifullest hound 
that ever walked Gods earth? If you do 
fail — * he paused, " well, never cross my 
path, that's all Now rouse up. I>ook like 
yourself, man ; they are here." 

It was true. There was a sound of 
slippered feet outside the study door. Jack 
rose from his chair and stood behind it t his 
face drawn, his eyes roving, He felt sick 
with the fear clutching at his heart. 

"Not a word from you," whispered Cyril, 
rapidly ; * £ leave everything to me." 

There was the sharp click of a: pistol- 
trigger outside ; a pause; and then the 
study door was flung wide open. In the 
corridor stood the doctor and Madge alone. 
The latter was holding a candle above her 
head in her left hand ; with her right she 
pointed a revolver. 



STOOD THE !X)CTl@f^rW^^3|lpftMK, M 




" You may give up. There is no escape. 
If you move you will be shot down without 
mercy," said the doctor, rapidly. "How 
many, Madge ? " he added, in a lower tone. 

Madge had with great difficulty checked 
the exclamation that had nsen to her lips 
as her glance fell on Cyril and Jack. Both 
arms dropped to her side. What did this 
mean ? Her startled, questioning glance 
dwelt on each of the young men alternately, 
but no explanation came. They stood before 
her like two statues. Jack hung his head ; he 
could not even face his father's sightless 
eyes. Cyril looked at her, silent, calm, and 

" How many, Madge ? " repeated the 
doctor, impatiently. 

" Two," she gasped, with a great effort. 

" Do you recognise them ? " 

There was a momentary pause. Jack 
trembled so violently that his grasp shook 
the chair he held. He felt that his fate 
hung on Madge's lips, and his torture was 
exquisite. Cyril did not blench. 

Again Madge swept the faces of the two 
young men with her keen, questioning glance. 
Still no attempt at explanation ! Oh, this 
obstinate silence ! Jack's shrinking figure, 
Cyril's cool hardihood, were convincing proofs 
of guilt. Know them ! Know them 1 The 
cowardly thieves I She coloured hotly ; her 
eyes flashed, and her lips curled with the 
in tensest scorn. 

" No, I do not," she replied. 

With a sudden and unexpected movement 
the doctor closed the door with a crash. 
He rubbed his hands excitedly. 

" We have them, Madge ; we have them 
safe, the scoundrels," said he. " Like rats in 
a trap ! Now to get Wayne and Jack, at 
once, to secure them." 

There was a choking sob at his side. 
Madge had turned and laid her forehead 
against the wall ; the hot tears were coursing 
down her cheeks. The doctor heard her, 
and reaching forward caught a hand that was 
hanging limply down. 

" Why, why, my dear ! " said he, with 
sudden compunction, as he felt Madge's 
fingers trembling in his grasp. " It was too 
bad of me to put you to such a trial. I 
ought to have waited for Wayne and Jack. 
I didn't stop to think. Your nerves are 
shaken, and no wonder. There ! there ! " 

No wonder, indeed ! They went upstairs 
side by side, Madge scarcely hearing, and still 
less heeding, the doctor's flow of exculpation. 

When they reached the doctor's room the 
old man wished Madge to rest there while 

jy Google 

he went to call his son and secretary and 
alarm the house generally. But to this 
proposal Madge objected with astonishing 
energy. She herself would go and no one 
else. She was quite recovered now and did 
not feel the slightest fear. VVould he promise 
her to remain quietly in his room until she 
returned with the others ? 

The doctor reluctantly yielded his consent, 
and then Madge slipped from the room with 
a wildly beating heart Instead, however, of 
turning along the corridor towards the rooms 
occupied by Cyril Wayne and Jack, she 
swiftly descended the stairs, and reaching the 
study door flung it wide open. 

" Come ! " said she, addressing Jack — she 
did not look at Cyril — " your father sent me to 
your room to call you — to your room /" She 
paused a moment, and then continued, with 
flashing eyes and a bitter emphasis: "Oh, 
deceive him still, if you can ! If you can 
keep him from learning to what you have 
fallen, do so ! You need expect no opposi- 
tion from me — for his sake, but never, never, 
dare to speak to me again ! " 

" Jack is not to blame in the least," said 
Cyril, quietly. " I am the culprit ; he is as 
innocent as you are, Miss Westbrook." 

Madge started and blanched ; that coolly- 
worded- confession seemed to stab her like a 
knife. Then like lightning there flashed 
across her brain the request she had over- 
heard for a loan of twenty-five pounds. Oh, 
this was all so horrible — so incomprehensible ! 
Jack had lifted his head as Cyril spoke, but 
had quickly let it fall again. 

"Jack followed me, only to watch me," 
continued Cyril, in the same even tones. 
" He was caught by the closing of the door 
when I opened the drawer — you know how 
it works — that is all as far as he is concerned. 
I throw myself on your mercy, Miss West- 
brook. I offer no useless excuses. If I 
dared ask a favour of you I would say, keep 
my secret — at least until I am free of 

Madge paused a moment, overwhelmed ; 
then she turned on him with passionate 
scorn. " Oh, how you have deceived us 1 
Then all the time you have been here you 
were only a thief — a common thief, at heart. 
Oh ! " — she waved her hand with a gesture of 
horror — "you acted well as a pretender, a 
masquerader, a specious, lying counterfeit of 
honesty." She turned to her cousin : " Jack I 
Jack ! speak ! " 

" For Heaven's sake, Madge, don't go 
on so. I — I can't stand it, I tell you," 
exclaimed Jack 5 violently. " I — I " 





u Hush 1 hush ! There is no need to say 
anything further," broke in Cyril, hastily, 
"Miss West brook will keep silence, I am 
sure. 1 only ask for a few hours' grace, JJ 

Madge swept out of the study without 
another word. Cyril pushed the reluctant 
jack and then followed him. At the doctor's 
door Madge left them and, her heart broken 
with passion, sought her ro^m. The old 
man had been awaiting the arrival of the 
young men in a fever of impatience. The 
first excitement consequent on the capture 
of the burglars having subsided somewhat, 
he had had time to reflect, It had occurred 
to him then that the thieves must have effected 
their entrance by the study door ; they could 
scarcely have done so by the window. In 
this case they had, he thought, probably 
entered by means of a skeleton key and had 
escaped in the same manner. 

It was a pitiful, distasteful farce to Cyril, 
but it had to be acted through to the finale. 
The birds had flown, of course, and equally 
of course by the French window found open 
in the corridor. 

Search parties were sent out, and Cyril 
wondered with a pang what could be 


Madge's feelings as the 
flickering lights wandered 
to and fro in the garden 
on their wild-goose chase. 
The next day Madge did 
not leave her room, and 
Cyril Wayne, feeling that 
he was the cause, hastened 
his departure. One more 
he, he bitterly told him- 
self, and his career of de- 
ception was concluded. 
It was an intense relief, 
sore as his heart might be, 
to get away as far as pos- 
sable from Highbank. He 
had spent there the hap- 
piest and the most painful 
hours of his existence* 

In less than a fortnight 
after Cyrils departure Jack 
Selden was watching, with 
a feeling of considerable 
satisfaction, from the deck 
of a " liner," the English 
coast -line fading in the dis- 
tance. His debts had been 
paid and a hardly - won 
consent obtained to try 
the experiment of sheep^ 
farming lit Australia, His 
Madge had accompanied 
Docks; and Jack was 
wondering vaguely, as he puffed his cigar 
and the summer night gathered round, what 
Madge was at that precise moment thinking 
of him. 

Before leaving he had written a letter for 
Madge, which she would have received on 
her return to the hotel from the docks. In 
it Jack had done full justice to Cyril Wayne. 
He had concealed nothing relating to the 
crime which he had so nearly committed, 
and which Cyril, to shield him, had so 
quixotically taken upon his own shoulders. 
In conclusion he had begged Madge to keep 
his secret from his father, and to consider 
that as far as he, Jack, was concerned she 
was free. 

Madge had found Jack's letter on her 
dressing table, and had read its frank out- 
pouring with quickened pulse, flushed cheeks, 
and sparkling eyes* What a dull, crushing 
weight it had suddenly lifted fnun her heart ! 
She did not attempt to analyze her feelings, 
but the crime seemed nearly trivial now that 
she knew it was Jack's. And then an uncon- 
trollable desfre seized her to make amends 


father, aunt, and 
him to Tilbury 



to Cyril Jack had evidently anticipated 
this ; for, with wonderful thoughtful ness, he 
had supplied the address and Madge recog- 
nised with a thrill that it was not distant 
more than five minutes' walk from the spot 
where she was at that moment standing. 

Should she write to Cyril or should she 
go to him? A moment's thought decided 
that question, The cruel words shu had 
used could only be withdrawn personally ; 
so, without bestowing a moment's reflection 
on the proprieties, she crushed Jack's 
precious epistle in her hand and, hurrying 
down Ihe stairs, left the hotel. 

It was witli a beating heart that she 
presently found herself at the house where 
Cyril was living. He was acting as locum 
hne/ts for a friend who was enjoying h*s 
holiday abroad. The servant, thinking she 
was a late patient, ushered her into a little 
waiting room, and from there, a few moments 
later, into the consulting room. Cyril, who 
was standing at the window, turned and 
started in astonishment as he recognised 

H What ! Miss West brook ! n he exclaimed, 
as he hurried forward, "The doctor ?' 8 

Madge held out her hand impulsively, 

"No," said she ; and then, without further 
preamble, she plunged tumultously into ihe 
reason that had brought 
her there. 

44 I have come to beg 
your pardon, Oh, you 
must forgive me for 
what — what 1 said. 
I m so sorry — oh, so 
sorry ; but I couldn't 
help it. Please read 
this before you say any- 

She thrust Jack's 
letter into Cyril's hand. 
The young man took it, ' 
glanced at the super- 
scription, and flushed. 

M Ah 1 so Jack has 
betrayed me ! n said he, 
as he commenced to 
read. t( And you are 

not angry at my deception ? " He looked 
into her eager, appealing face. " It is I who 

must ask forgiveness, but " 

** But you hurt me very much indeed," 
broke in Madge. "You should not have 
done it ; no, you should not. I said things 
— I misjudged you, because you — oh, yuu 
had disappointed me — wounded me so 
much," Her eyes grew humid and her last 
words faltered and fell almost to a whisper. 

"I — I thought the end justified the 
means," stammered Cyril, He scarcely 
knew what to say* He turned to the letter 

There followed a momentary silence while 
Cyril read on. Suddenly his heart bounded 
wildly, and the writing swam before his eyes 
as he came to J nek's declaration of freedom. 
He dropped the letter and turned to her. 

u Miss Wcstbrook — Madge — tell me — you 
must ! Did you love him ? ' 7 

"I — 1 had promised," she whispered, with 
drooping eyelids. 

11 Promised! Promised' Only promised? 
I always thought you loved him," exclaimed 

Madge did not reply, but the colour 
surged sudden and warm into her half- 
averted cheek. 

11 My dear! my dear!" said he, passion- 
ately, as he caught 
both her hands in his. 
*! It was 1 that loved 
- you after all — not Jack. 
I deceived you for 
your sake, not for his. 
* What could I do? 
- Could I see you suffer? 
; l.have loved you from 
: : - the/ first, but I never 
\ ;ti\dught to tell you this, 
<Jsiit useless forme to 
• ido -- so now? M adge t 
.-dear, is it? Is it?" 

There was no reply, 
.• but as he drew her un- 
resisting form towards 
•" him he read his an- 
swer in her uplifted, 
happy eyes* 


3y boogie 

"Original from 

joys and child- 
hood's sorrows, it-. 
beauty, and even 
its little frailties — 
in fact, everything 
connected with the 
dawn of life, has 
its own especial 
charm. It is, per- 
haps, not given to 
all of us to detect 
with a sympathetic 
eye the picturesque 
in a very naughty 
young person, 

who hits at every moment on a fresh idea to 
make his fellow-creatures uncomfortable ; nor 
is the spectacle of children in their best-loved 
state of dirty happiness too pleasing to the 
average observer. But the artist's eye sees 
things differently, Happily so ; his imagina- 
tive brain sees the humour of the little self- 
assertions, and the pathetic side of the joy 
of living even in the gutter. Yet, after all 
is said, it remains, of course, a certain truth 
that there are many aspects of child - life 

Voi xxyii— si. 

permission of Brimn, Cl4ment t & Co* 

[K OKardtnn. 

which can only in reality be fully understood 
by mothers. 

The subject of our first picture— "Asleep," 
by the French painter, F, Charderon— 
is a little masterpiece of its kind. There 
may be prettier children than this one, but 
the natural and unconscious grace of the 
little warm and rosy body is infinitely 

Charming, too, is the face in the medallion 
in the heading of this article — the face of a 


1 86 


^rm ^ 








^ v ■ ■• V 

1 * 

\* Vi/V ! - 

1 i 


Frvittlhe Panama] Hi>\VKH UP THE HtATH. \bv SehweidKtt. 

By pernu&sinn of the Berlin Photographic Co* 

child-angel, which seems to watch over the 
figure of the human child asleep below. It 
is taken from a painting by Bernardo Strozzi. 
■ The picture reproduced above, entitled 
*' Flower of the Heath/* by the German 
painter, Schwentzen, is another delightful 
study. It is that of a child wandering 

• Digitized by O i 

alone over a flowery plain 
—or not quite alone, for 
she is accompanied by a 
shaggy terrier, who carries 
in his mouth a basket, 
from which protrudes a 
bottle. That bottle, as often happens 
with accessories of a picture which may 
seem quite unimportant at first sight, is 
not there for nothing. It tells, or at least 
elucidates, the story of the picture* The 
little girl has been the bearer of her 
father's dinner, and is returning through 
the flowering heather, filling her apron 
with blossoms as she goes. The whole 
picture — sunny landscape, flowers, dog, 
and child— is full of delicate power and 
subtle charm. 

The three child-heads in the medal- 
lions above given must not be passed 
without a word of notice. The upper 
one is by Gainsborough, and a more 
winsome and delightful little face it is 
impossible to imagine* That on the 
right is from the same picture — the two 
children being named respectively Hab- 
bt nal and Ganderetta. The head in the 
medallion on the left-hand side is from 
the portrait of James* the young Earl of 
Salisbury, by Knell er. 
We come now to a picture full of pathetic 
meaning — " Tired Gleaners " — by our well- 
known English painter, Mr, Fred Morgan. 
They look so poor and sad, these pretty 
little girls, who have at the very outset of life 
already known so much of its hardship* The 
elder one hf%.;& mother's instinct of kindly 



■ 87 

care for the 
weaker little 
sister; her face 
expresses the 
self - forgetting 
resignation of a 
life filled with 
lnvc for others. 
The little one, 
more beautiful 
than the elder 
sister, is one of 
those beings 
who are in all 
stations of life 
predestined to 
be loved and 
cared for, A 
whole touching 
life - story is in 
these two chil- 
dren's faces — 
beautiful but 

The examples 
which have been 
selected to fill 
the medallions 
given in this 
article comprise 
illustrations of 
children's heads 
contained . in 
some of the 
most celebrated 
pictures in the 
world. It is 
impossible in a 
limited space to 
give an adequate 
idea of the 
beau t y and 

(harm with which the old masters have 
immortalized childhood — or perhaps it 
would be more accurate to say babyhood, 
since the great majority are representations 
of the Child with the Madonna, and, though 
varying in age from a few weeks upwards, the 
infant is seldom shown as older than a year 
or two at most. These studies of what may, 
in a double sense, be called the divinity of 
childhood differ widely according to the 
nationality of the painter. As we shall see 
presently, in some of the examples given in 
these pages farther on, we can enumerate 
among the artists of this country certain 
painters, such as Gainsborough and Reynolds, 
who as delineators of child-life and character 
are not easily excelled. There are those, 


From the Pniniinp bv Fred Jfwfn n. 

By permission uf the Berlin Photographic Co. 

however, who would say that in this respect 
the Italian masters have never been surpassed. 
Raphael's child-head of Christ from the paint- 
ing entitled the " Madonna Aldobrandinij" 
which is reproduced in the first medallion 
above, will through all ages illustrate, perhaps 
without a rival, the mission of the eternally 
beautiful — the dignity of innocence, the 
holiness of love, Bernardo Strozzi, later 
than Raphael, painted a human child in the 
arms of the Holy Virgin. It is reproduced 
in the right-hand medallion above. The 
childish charm and smile are most alluring. 
Here we find an allegory of Christianity ; 
but it is not, like the child's head in Raphael's 
" Madonna Aldobrandini/ 1 an allegory of the 




In the picture entitled " For Mother's 
Birthday," by Louise Jopling, a large-eyed little 
maiden is seen carrying so huge a jar of 
flowers that she can scarcely hold it. The 
painter of this picture must be a lover of 
children ; only those who are sensitive to the 
charm of children can observe their charac- 
teristics with so much aeuteness. The little 
girl is so prim and tidy, her best 
frock and hair-ribbon have been put 
on with such care, the suppressed 
excitement and the consciousness of 
the great importance of the event are 

so well ex- 
pressed in 
her closed 
mouth, in 
the fixed 
gaze of the 
eyes, that 
we feel that 
the painter 


Bjf Frtd Morgan., 

fSy permission of ihe Berlin 

I }]Litygr;iphic Co. 

Here is another of Mr* Fred 
Morgan's studies of child- life - — a 
study notable for its expression of 
unreflecting and unconscious happi- 
ness. To be five years old and to play 
hide-and-seek among the blossoms, 
to feel them closing you in entirely, 
so that you can only just peep through 
and see with joy the others pass your 
hiding-place, to hold back the flowery 
branches and save with the other 
hand the little frock from the thorns 
- what pleasure I And there, right 
over head, is baby heard crowing ; she comes 
nearer and nearer, held high above the 
flowers and thorns by her strong elder sister. 
She is sure to catch you I Can one ever feel 
in after years such delight, excitement, and 
suspense ? 

Digitized by GOOQ I C 

By Louim mtoplimg. FVtmi a Photo, op H, Duvn- 

hsis caught the fleeting moment to perfection. 
The next instant that spell of solemnity will 
be broken, when her mother will haw n 
ceived her birthday present and will have 
taken her in her arms and kissed her ; and 
the child's expression, as she goes dancing 




back to the nursery, no longer 
with the measured steps with 
which she left it, will be, though 
not less child-like, the opposite in 
Let us turn again to the realm 
of fancy, to fairyland, where we 
all once wandered. Who of us 
has not feared and trembled for 
Little Red Riding -Hood; who 

has not c 
dially detested 
the wolf, and 
wished to warn her 
against his wiles ? 
The mixture of trust 
in the wolf and of 
doubt in her own 
judgment has in our 
picture been charm- 
ingly expressed 
by the painter. 

This is one of those pictures which have the 
merit of containing an idea which throws a 
new light on the story which it illustrates* 

Digitized by V_*i 

Every child who 
has read the ad- 
ventures of Little 
Red Riding- 
Hood has won- 
dered why she felt 
no fear at the first 
appearance of the 
wolf. It was be- 
cause he had the 
wit, as the picture 
clearly shows, to 
disguise his nature 
and, with all his 
running, to show- 
nothing but his 
natural likeness to 
a big and friendly 
dog, in which it is 
quite easy for a 
child to trust, as 
in a playfellow 
rather than an 

In the picture, 
" Diligence," by 
Die Ren bach, there 
is perhaps no 
idea except what appears at first glance. 
Whether the child is reallv absorbed in her 
lessons, or whether the title is ironical and she 



Prom the Pajnfr'np by Iliddcmnn, 

By per mission of the Berlin Photographic Co* 




Front R&e Painting bit I*wl /'«!. 
By permissi'jn of Bnuin, Clement, & Co. 


is in fact dream- 
ing over a fairy 
tale while the 
school -books 
repose in the 
basket, does not 
much matter ; 
the reader may 
take his choice. 
The picture is most 
probably one of those 
which are painted 
solely for delight in 
their subject. Is not 
the whole thing per- 
fectly charming? 

On this page we 
have two pictures 
which present as 
marked a contrast as 
may easily be con- 
ceived, "An Unexpected Meeting," by Paul 
Peel, depicting the sturdy little fellow with 
the irresistible air of manliness greeting the 
Digitiz >QgTe 

frog as a boon-companion, is as natural a 
study of boy-life as is that of the little girl of 
the characteristics of the opposite sex, " Little 
Caprice' 5 stands before us in scanty attire 
which is not the beginning of her morning 
toilet, but is merely the result of her — caprice. 
But what does it all mean? If she knew 
that, or you, or I, it would be no longer what 
it is — an inexplicable freak of the child's mind. 
She has been left unobserved for a moment 
whilst playing in a corner and found it 
amusing to take off her clothes* till she came 
to the critical point, which the painter has 
seized with so much humour and truth to 
life. Suddenly it strikes her that it is not very 
amusing to be without one's clothes, but she 
does not wish to put her things on by herself, 


the Puitd I Kfl &ff ] UTT LB C A PRICE. ' 

By permission of Braim, Clement t & Co. 


partly for the simple reason that she does not 
know how to do it, and also because she does 
not know whether she really wishes to be 
dressed again. Oh, misery! oh T aggravation! 
she wants to do neither one thing nor 
the other. In fact, she does not know 
exactly what she wants — a state of mind 
which, when she grows to womanhood, will 
doubtless very often be repeated, 




u A Kiss First n is the name of a 
delightful picture by Meyer von 
Bremen, The boy stands in the 
full knowledge of his strength and 
manly superiority before the foun- 
" tain and prevents the little girl from 
filling her jug. His eyes are spark- 
ling with the conviction that he has 
her in his power, And she? She 
is but a woman in miniature. Let 
those who flatter themselves that 
they understand women decide 
whether he 
will get his 
kiss or not. 

"IN IMVi.l- 

From iKf Painting h? Mtytr t»n Bremen. 
By permission of the Berlin Photographic Co* 

The next picture is most realistic 
and amusing, and there can hardly 
be two opinions as to its obvious 
meaning — or, rather, its double 
meaning. The painter has en- 
tered the house for a moment to 
chat with the pretty girl — so //< b 
" in danger. 1 ' In the meantime, 
the children coming home from 
school stop on their way to see 
the picture — and that is in danger 
also. The young genius gets 
hold of the brush and adds, with 
a few strokes, a little more colour 
to the landscape. The little 
sister kneeling by his side en- 
courages the artistic perform 
ance, while the elder one pro- 
bably passes judgment on the 

Yrtm th$ Fainting by! 

41 A lUS* FJUST 

By permission of th« Berlin 

{ AUyer ton Brvmm. 

DrTginalfronT* 1 ~ 





Ftvm the fainting bv Kate Pev*wff»*i. 
By permisjiun of the Berlin Photo- 
graphic Co. 

In looking at the beautiful child on the 

swing in the picture entitled " Butterflies," 

-by Kate Perugini, one at first receives the 

impression that the painter wanted to give us 

a " thing of beauty," 
without any other 
suggestion of childish 
amusement but the 
swing. Indeed, the title 
might well have been 
"Three Butterflies," for 
the child in the graceful 
dress, patterned as richly 
as the insects 3 wings, is 
as much a butterfly as 
the other two. But 
there is a fur- 
ther idea in the 
picture than 
that. Look 
bnce more. 
The little toe 
is aiming to 
touch the but- 
terfly whilst it 
passes; the 
intent express 
si on on the 
childish face 
shows that all 
her attention is 
on this one 
This is a very 
subtle illustra- 
tion of the fact 
that children 
seldom enjoy a 
planless physical movement. Their little 
minds are constantly working for their own 
small aims and so developing for bigger 

Of the pictures in the medallions on this 
page, that on the left is from Sir Joshua 
Reynolds's painting entitled " The Angelic 
Child." It requires no saying that Sir 
Joshua's studies of children are among the 
most charming that ever came from the 
brush of a painter. The upper right-hand 
medallion is from Bartolozzi's picture called 
" Merit," while the remaining one is a paint- 
ing named " A Boy with an Anchor," by the 
Italian artist, Cipriani. 


by Google 

Original from 


^■^ a^JMTJl 



|R. CHALK, with his mind full 
of the story lie had just heard , 
walked homewards like a man 
in a dream. The air was 
fragrant with spring and the 
scent of lilac revived memories 
almost forgotten. It took him back forty 
years , and showed him a small boy treading 
the same road, passing the same houses. 
Nothing had changed so much as the small 
boy himself; nothing had been ho unlike the 
life he had pictured as the life he had led. 
Even the blamelessness of the latter yielded 
no comfort ; it savoured of a lack of spirit. 

His mind was still busy with the past 
when he reached home. Mrs. Chalk, a 
woman of imposing appearance, who sat by 
the window at needlework, looked up sharply 
at his entrance. Before she spoke he had a 
dim idea that she was excited about some- 

" I've got her/ 1 she said, triumph ami v. 
'*Oh !" said Mr. Chalk. 
11 She didn't want to come at first," said 
Mrs. Chalk ; "she'd half promised to go to 

Vol . * it i i l — 25- Copyright, i 904,") ^y 1W) f^ j acolw, 

Mrs. Morris. Mrs. Morris had heard of bar 
through Harris, the grocer, and he only knew 
she was out of a place by accident He " 

Her words fell on deaf ears. Mr. Chalk, 
gazing through the window, heard without 
comprehending a long account of the 
capture of a new housemaid, which, slightly 
altered as to name and place, would have 
passed muster as an exciting contest between 
a skilful angler and a particularly sulky 
salmon* Mrs. Chalk, noticing his inatten- 
tion at last, pulled up sharply* 

(i YouVe not listening ! ,J she cried. 

"Yes, I am; go on, my dear," said Mr. 

" What did I say she left her last place for, 
then ? " demanded the lady. 

Mr, Chalk started. He had been con- 
scious of his wife's voice, and that was all 
"You said you were not surprised at her 
leaving," he replied, slowly ; " the only 
wonder to you was that a decent girl should 
have stayed there so long." 

Mrs. Chalk started and bit her lip, " Yeb," 
she said, slowly, " Ye — es. Go on ; any- 
thing else ? n 

11 You said the house wanted cleaning 
from top to bottom," said the painstaking 
Mr. Chalk* 

"Go on," said his wife, in a smothered 
voice. " What else did I say ? " 

in,he MifMHIGAN 



" Said you pitied the husband," continued 
Mr. Chalk, thoughtfully. 

Mrs. Chalk rose suddenly and stood over 
him. Mr. Chalk tried desperately to collect 
his faculties. 

" How dare you ? " she gasped. " I've 
never said such things in my life. Never. 
And I said that she left because Mr. Wilson, 
her master, was dead and the family had gone 
to London. I've never been near the house ; 
so how could I say such things ? " 

Mr. Chalk remained silent. 

11 What made you think of such things ? " 
persisted Mrs. Chalk. * 

Mr. Chalk shook his head ; no satisfactory 
reply was possible. " My thoughts were far 
away," he said, at last. 

His wife bridled and said, "Ob, indeed !" 
Mr. Chalk's mother, dead some ten years 
before, had taken a strange pride — possibly 
as a protest against her only son's appearance 
— in hinting darkly at a stormy and chequered* 
past. Pressed for details she became more 
mysterious still, and, saying that " she knew 
what she knew," declined to be deprived of 
the knowledge under any consideration. 
She also informed her daughter-in-law that 
"what the eye don't see the heart don't 
grieve," and that it was better to " let bygones 
be bygones," usually winding up with the 
advice to the younger woman to keep her 
eye on Mr. Chalk without letting him see it. 

" Peckham Rye is a long way off, cer- 
tainly," added the indignant Mrs. Chalk, after 
a pause. " It's a pity you haven't got some- 
thing better to think of, at your time of life, 

Mr. Chalk flushed. Peckham Rye was 
one of the nuisances bequeathed by his 

"I was thinking of the sea," he said, 

Mrs. Chalk pounced. -"Oh, Yarmouth," 
she said, with withering scorn. 

Mr. Chalk flushed deeper than before. " I 
wasn't thinking of such things," he declared. 

" What things ? " said his wife, swiftly. 

" The — the things you're alluding to," said 
the harassed Mr. Chalk. 

" Ah ! " said his wife, with a toss of her 
head. " Why you should get red in the face 
and confused when I say that Peckham Rye 
and Yarmouth are a long way off is best 
known to yourself. It's very funny that the 
moment either of these places is mentioned 
you get uncomfortable. People might read 
a geography-book out loud in my presence 
and it wouldn't affect me." 

She swept out of the room, and Mr. 

Digitized by ^OOQ IC 

Chalk's thoughts, excited by the magic word 
geography, went back to the island again. 
The half- forgotten dreams of his youth 
appeared to be materializing. Sleepy Bin- 
chester ended for him at Dialstone Lane, 
and once inside the captain's room the en- 
chanted world beyond the seas was spread 
before his eager gaze. The captain, amused 
at first at his enthusiasm, began to get weary 
of the subject of the island, and so far the 
visitor had begged in vain for a glimpse of 
the map. 

His enthusiasm became contagious. 
Prudence, entering one evening in the 
middle of a conversation, heard sufficient to 
induce her to ask for more, and the captain, 
not without some reluctance and several 
promptings from Mr. Chalk when he showed 
signs of omitting vital points, related the 
story. Edward Tredgold heard it, and, judg- 
ing by the frequency of his visits, was almost 
as interested as Mr. Chalk. 

" I can't see that there could be any 
harm in just looking at the map," said Mr. 
Chalk, one evening. " You could keep your 
thumb on any part you wanted to." 

"Then we should know where to dig," 
urged Mr. Tredgold. " Properly managed 
there ought to be a fortune in your innocence, 

Mr. Chalk eyed him fixedly. " Seeing 
that the latitude and longitude and all the 
directions are written on the back" he 
observed, with cold dignity, " I don't see 
the force of your remarks." 

" Well, in that case, why not show it to 
Mr. Chalk, uncle ? " said Prudence, charit- 

Captain Bowers began to show signs of 

annoyance. " Well, my dear ," he began, 


" Then Miss Drewitt could see it too," 
said Mr. Tredgold, blandly. 

Miss Drewitt reddened with indignation, 
" I could see it any time I wished," she said, 

" Well, wish now," entreated Mr. Tredgold. 
" As a matter of fact, I'm dying with curiosity 
myself. Bring it out and make it crackle, 
captain; it's a bank-note for half a million." 

The captain shook his head and a slight 
frown marred his usually amiable features. 
He got up and, turning his back on them, 
filled his pipe from a jar on the mantelpiece. 

"You never will see it, Chalk," said 
Edward Tredgold, in tones of much convic- 
tion. "I'll bet you two to one in golden 
sovereigns that you'll sink into your honoured 
family vault with your justifiable curiosity still 




unsatisfied. And 1 shouldn't wonder if your 
perturbed spirit walks the captain's bedroom 

Miss Drewitt looked up and eyed the 
speaker with scornful comprehension. " Take 
the bet, Mr, Chalk," she 
said, slowly, 

Air. Chalk turned in 
hopeful amaze \ then he 
leaned over and shook 
hands solemnly with Mr. 
Tredgold, " HI take 
the bet," he said. 

" Uncle will show it 
to you to please me/' 
announced Prudence, in 
a clear voice. "Won't 
you, uncle ? " 

The captain turned 
and took the matches 
from the table. "Cer- 
Liinly, my dear, if I can 
find it," he said, in a 
hesitating fashion. M But 
I'm afraid IVe mislaid 
it. I haven't seen it 
since I unpacked/ 1 

11 Mislaid U! u ejacu- 
lated the startled Mr. 
Chalk. M Good heavens ! 
Suppose somebody 
should find it ? What 
about your word to Don 
Silvio then ? ' J 

11 I've got it some- 
where/' said the captain, 
brusquely ; " 111 have 
a hunt for it. All the 
same, I don't know that it's quite fair to 
interfere in a bet/' 

Miss Drewitt waved the objection away, 
remarking that people who made bets must 
risk losing their money. 

"I'll begin to save up," said Mr. Tredgold, 
with a lightness which was not lost upon 
Miss Drewitt " The captain has got to find 
it before you can see it, Chalk.'' 

Mr. Chalk, with a satisfied smile, said that 
when the captain promised a thing it was as 
g(K>d as done. 

Vox the nevt few days he waited patiently, 
and, ransacking an old lumber-room, divided 
his time pretty equally between a volume of 
"Captain Cook's Voyages" that he found 
there and " Famous Shipwrecks/' By this 
means and the exercise of great self- 
control he ceased from troubling Dial stone 
Lane for a week. Even then it was Edward 
Tredgold who took him there. The latter 

Digitized by tj< 

was in high spirits, and in explanation 
informed the company, with a cheerful sniile, 
that he had saved five and ninepence, and 
was forming habits which bade fair to make 
him a rich man in time. 


" Don't you be in too much of a hurry to 
find that map, captain," he said, 

"It's found," said Miss Drewitt, with a 
little note of triumph in her voice. 

14 Found it this morning," said Captain 

He crossed over to an oak bureau which 
stood in the comer by the fireplace, and 
taking a paper from a pigeon-hole slowly 
unfolded it and spread it on the table before 
the delighted Mr- Chalk. Miss Drewitt and 
Edward Tredgold advanced to the table and 
eyed it curiously. 

The map, which was drawn in lead-pencil, 
was on a piece of ruled paper, yellow with 
age and cracked in the folds. The island 
was in shape a rough oval, the coast -line 
being broken by small bays and headlands* 
Mr. Chalk eyed it with all the fervour 
usually bestowed on a holy relic P and, breath- 
lessly reading jn^ffr^fr 1 terms as "Cape 




Silvio," "Bowers Bay," and "Mount Lone- 
some," gazed with breathless interest at the 

" And is that the grave ? " he inquired, in 
a trembling voice, pointing to a mark in the 
north-east corner. 

The captain removed it with his finger- 
nail. "No," he said, briefly. "For full 
details see the other side." 

For one moment Mr. Chalk hoped ; then 
his face fell as Captain Bowers, displaying 
for a fraction of a second the writing on the 
other side, took up the map and, replacing it 
in the bureau, turned the key in the lock and 
with a low laugh resumed his seat. Miss 
Drewitt, glancing over at Edward Tredgold, 
saw that he looked very thoughtful. 

" You've lost your bet," she said, pointedly. 

" I know," was the reply. 

His gaiety had vanished and he looked so 
dejected that Miss Drewitt was reminded of 
the ruined gambler in a celebrated picture. 
She tried to quiet her conscience by hoping 
that it would be a lesson to him. As she 
watched, Mr. Tredgold dived into his left 
trouser-pocket and counted out some coins, 
mostly brown. To these he added a few 
small pieces of silver gleaned from his waist- 
coat, and then after a few seconds' moody 
thought found a few more in the other 

" Eleven "and tenpence,"he said, mechani- 

"Any time," said Mr. Chalk, rejgarding 
him with awkward surprise. " Any time." 

" Give him an I O U," said Captain 
Bowers, fidgeting. 

" Yes, any time," repeated Mr. Chalk ; 
" I'm in no hurry." 

" No ; Td sooner pay now and get it over," 
said the other, still fumbling in his pockets. 
"As Miss Drewitt says, people who make 
bets must be prepared to lose ; I thought I 
had more than this." 

There was an embarrassing silence, during 
which Miss Drewitt, who had turned very 
red, felt strangely uncomfortable. She felt 
more uncomfortable still when Mr. Tredgold, 
discovering a bank-note and a little col- 
lection of gold coins in another pocket, 
artlessly expressed his joy at the dis- 
covery. The simple-minded captain and 
Mr. Chalk both experienced a sense of 
relief; Miss Drewitt sat and simmered in 
helpless indignation. 

" You're careless in money matters, my 
lad," said the captain, reprovingly. 

" I couldn't understand him making all 
that fuss over a couple o' pounds," said 

Digiiiz&d by ^OOQ IC 

Mr. Chalk, looking round. " He's very free, 
as a rule ; too free." 

Mr. Tredgold, sitting grave and silent, 
made no reply to these charges, and the 
girl was the only one to notice a faint 
twitching at the corners of his mouth. She 
saw it distinctly, despite the fact that her 
clear, grey eyes were fixed dreamily on a spot 
some distance above his head. 

She sat in her room upstairs after the 
visitors had gone, thinking it over. The light 
was fading fast, and as she sat at the open 
window the remembrance of Mr. Tredgold's 
conduct helped to mar one of the most 
perfect evenings she had ever known. 

Downstairs the captain was also thinking. 
Dialstone Lane was in shadow, and already 
one or two lamps were lit behind drawn 
blinds. A little chatter of voices at the end 
of the lane floated in at the open window, 
mellowed by distance. His pipe was out, 
and he rose to search in the gloom for a 
match, when another murmur of voices 
reached his ears from the kitchen. He 
stood still and listened intently. To put 
matters beyond all doubt, the shrill laugh 
of a girl was plainly audible. The captain's 
face hardened, and, crossing to the fireplace, 
he rang the bell. 

" Yessir," said Joseph, as he appeared and 
closed the door carefully behind him. 

" What are you talking to yourself in that 
absurd manner for?" inquired the captain, 
with great dignity. 

" Me, sir ? " said Mr. Tasker, feebly. 

" Yes, you," repeated the captain, noticing 
with surprise that the door was slowly 

Mr. Tasker gazed at him in a troubled 
fashion, but made no reply. 

" I won't have it," said the captain, sternly, 
with a side glance at the door. " If you 
want to talk to yourself go outside and do it. 
I never heard such a laugh. What did you 
do it for ? It was like an old woman with a 
bad cold." 

He smiled grimly in the darkness, and 
then started slightly as a cough, a hostile, 
challenging cough, sounded from the kitchen. 
Before he could speak the cough ceased and 
a thin voice broke carelessly into song. 

" What ! " roared the captain, in - well- 
feigned astonishment. " Do you mean to 
tell me you've got somebody in my pantry ? 
Go and get me those rules and regulations." 

Mr. Tasker backed out, and the captain 
smiled again as he heard a whispered dis- 
cussion. Then a voice clear and distinct 
took command, jnal 1 '' 1 talce ' em * n m y se ' f > * 



tell you," it said u I'll rules and regulations 

The smile faded from the captain's face, 
and he gazed in perplexity at the door as a 
strange young woman bounced into the room. 

" Here's your rules and regulations," said 
the intruder, in a somewhat shrewish voice. 
u You'd better light the lamp if you want 
to see } em ; though the spelling ain't so 
noticeable in the dark," 

The impressiveness of the captain's gaze 
was wasted in the darkness. For a moment 
he hesitated, and then, 
with the dignity of a 
man whose spelling has 
nothing to conceal, 
struck a match and lit 
the lamp. The lamp 
lighted, he lowered 
the blind, and then 
seating himself by the 
window turned with a 
majestic air to a thin 
slip of a- girl with tow- 
coloured hair, who 
stood by the door, 

" Who are you ? " he 
demanded, gruffly. 

u My name's Vic- 
kers," said the young 
lady, "Selina Vickers, 
I heard all what you've 
been saying to my 
Joseph, but, thank good- 
ness, I can take my 
own part. I don't want 
nobody to fight my 
battles for me, If 
you've got anything to 
say about my voice you 
can say it to my face." 

Captain Bowers sat 
back and regarded her 
with impressive dignity. 
Miss Vickers met his gaze calmly and, 
with a pair of unwinking green eyes, stared 
him down. 

" What were you doing in my pantry ? w 
demanded the captain, at last. 

U I was in your kitchen" replied Miss 
Vickers, with scornful emphasis on the last 
word, '* to see my young man/' 

" Well, I can't have you there," said the 
captain, with a mildness that surprised him- 
self. "One of my rules " 

Miss Vickers interposed. "I've read 'em 
all over and over again," she said, im- 


"If it occurs again," said the other, u 


shall have to speak to Joseph very seriously 
about it." 

"Talk to me," said Miss Vickers, sharply ; 
" that's what I come in for. I can talk to" 
you better than what Joseph can, I know. 
What harm do you think I was doing your 
old kitchen ? Don't you try and interfere 
between me and my Joseph, because I won't 
have it. You're not married yourself, and 
you don't want other people to be. How 
do you suppose the world would get on 
if everybody was like you?" 

Captain Bowers re- 
garded her in open-eyed 
perplexity. The door 
leading to the garden 
had just closed behind 
the valiant Joseph, and 
he stared with growing 
uneasiness at the slight 
figure of Miss Vickers 
as it stood poised for 
further oratorical efforts. 
Before he could speak 
she gave her lips a 
rapid lick and started 

" You're one of those 
people that don't like 
to see others happy, 
that's what you are," 
she said, rapidly. "I 
wasn't hurting your 
kitchen, and as to talk- 
ing and laughing there 
— what do you think 
my tongue was given to 
me for? Show? 
PV&ps if you'd been 
doing a day's hard work 
yOT y » 

4 Look here, my girl 

" began the captain, 


* ( Don't you my girl me, please," inter- 
rupted Miss Vickers. " Fm not your girl, 
thank goodness. If I was you'd be a bit 
different, I can tell you, If you had any 
girls you'd know better than to try and come 
between them and their young men. Be- 
sides, they wouldn't let you* When a girl's 
got a young man " 

The captain rose and went through the 
form of ringing the bell. Miss Vickers 
watched him calmly. 

"I thought I'd just have it out with you 
for once and for all," she continued. " I 
told Joseph that I'd no doubt your bark was 
worse than yoiflnWlfroi"rt^ m l wliat he can see 




to be afraid of in you I can't think. Nervous 
d is posit ion, I s'pose. Good'evening." 

She gave her head a little toss and, return- 
ing to the pantry, closed the door after her. 
Captain Bowers, still somewhat dazed, 
returned to his chair and, gazing at the 
44 Rules" which still lay on the table, grinned 
feebly in his beard. 

To keep such a romance to himself was 
beyond the powers of Mr/ Chalk. The 
captain had made no conditions as to secrecy, 
and he therefore considered himself free to 
indulge in hints to his two greatest friends, 
which caused those gentlemen to entertain 
some doubts as to his sanity, Mr. Robert 
Stobell, whose work as a contractor had left 
a permanent and unmistakable mark upon 
Binchester, became imbued with 
a hazy idea that Mr. Chalk had 
invented a new process of making 
large diamonds. Mr, Jasper 

mysteries of things/ 1 complained Mr. 

Mr. Stohell, whose habit was taciturn and 
ruminative, fixed his dull brown eyes on 
the ground and thought it over. u I believe 
it's all my eye and Betty Martin," he said, at 
length, quoting a saying which had been 
used in his family as an expression of dis- 
belief since the time ofhis great-grandmother. 

H He comes in to see me when I'm hard 
at work and drops hints/' pursued his friend, 
" When I stop to pick 'em up, out he goes. 
Yesterday he came in and asked me what I 
thought of a man who wouldn't break his 
word for half a million. Half a million, 
mind you ! I just asked him who it was, and 
out he went again. He pops in and out of 
my office like a figure on a cuckoo-clock/' 

Mr. Stobell relapsed into thought again, 


Tredgold, on the other hand, arrived at the 
conclusion that a highly respectable burglar 
was offering for some reason to share his loot 
with him. A conversation between Messrs. 
Stobell and Tredgold in the High Street only 
made matters more complicated, 

" Chalk always was fond of making 

Digitized by L*i 

but no gleam of expression disturbed the 
lines of his heavy face ; Mr, Tredgold, whose 
sharp, alert features bred more confidence in 
his own clients than those of other people, 
waited impatiently. 

"He knows something that we donV 
said Mr. St*^^^^^-," that's what it is." 




Mr. Tredgold, who was too used to his 
friend's mental processes to quarrel with 
them, assented. 

11 He's coming round to smoke a pipe with 
me to-morrow night," he said, briskly, as he 
turned to cross the road to his office. " You 
come too, and we'll get it out of him. If 
Chalk can keep a secret he has altered, that's 
all I can say." 

His estimate of Mr. Chalk proved correct. 
With Mr. Tredgold acting as cross-examining 
counsel and Mr. Stobell enacting the part of 
a partial and overbearing judge, Mr. Chalk, 
after a display of fortitude which surprised 
himself almost as much as it irritated his 
friends, parted with his news and sat smiling 
with gratification at their growing excitement. 

" Half a million, and he won't go for it ? " 
ejaculated Mr. Tredgold. "The man must 
be mad." 

" No ; he passed his word and he won't 
break it," said Mr. Chalk. "The captain's 
word is his bond, and I honour him for it. 
I can quite understand it." 

Mr. Tredgold shrugged his shoulders and 
glanced at Mr. Stobell ; that gentleman, after 
due deliberation, gave an assenting nod. 

" He can't get at it, that's the long and 
short of it," said Mr. Tredgold, after a pause. 
" He had to leave it behind when he was 
rescued, or else risk losing it by telling the 
men who rescued him about it, and he's had 
no opportunity since. It wants money to 
take a ship out there and get it, and he 
doesn't see his way quite clear. He'll have 
it fast enough when he get's a chance. If 
not, why did he make that map?" 

Mr. Chalk shook his head, and remarked 
mysteriously that the captain had his reasons. 
Mr. Tredgold relapsed into silence, and for 
some time the only sound audible came from 
a briar-pipe which Mr. Stobell ought to have 
thrown away some years before. 

" Have you given up that idea of a yacht- 
ing cruise of yours, Chalk ? " demanded Mr. 
Tredgold, turning on him suddenly. 

" No," was the reply. " I was talking about 
it to Captain Bowers only the other day. 
That's how I got to hear of the treasure." 

Mr. Tredgold started and gave a significant 
glance at Mr. Stobell. In return he got a 
wink which that gentleman kept for moments 
of mental confusion. 

" What did the captain tell you for ? " 
pursued Mr. Tredgold, returning to Mr. 
Chalk. " He wanted you to make an offer. 
He hasn't got the money for such an expedi- 
tion ; you have. The yarn about passing his 
word was so that you shouldn't open your 

mouth too wide. You were to do the per- 
suading, and then he could make his own 
terms. Do you see ? Why, it's as plain 
as A B C" 

%i Plain as the alphabet," said Mr. Stobell, 
almost chidingly. 

Mr. Chalk gasped and looked from one to 
the other. 

t% I should like to have a chat with the 
captain about it," continued Mr. Tredgold, 
slowly and impressively. ** I'm a business 
man and 1 could put it on a business footing. 
It's a big risk, of course ; all those things 
are .... but if we went shares .... if 
ive found the money " 

He broke off and, filling his pipe slowly, 
gazed in deep thought at the wall. His 
friends waited expectantly. 

"Combine business with pleasure," resumed 
Mr. Tredgold, lighting his pipe ; " sea-air 
.... change .... blow away the cob- 
webs .... experience for Edward to be 
left alone. What do you think, Stobell?" 
he added, turning suddenly. 

Mr. Stobell gripped the arms of his chair 
in his huge hands and drew his bulky figure 
to a more upright position. 

11 What do you mean by combining 
business with pleasure? ' he said, eyeing him 
with dull suspicion 

" Chalk is set on a trip for the love of it," 
explained Mr. Tredgold. 
. " If we take on the contract, he ought to 
pay a bigger share, then," said the other, 

11 Perhaps he will," said Tredgold, hastily. 

Mr. Stobell pondered again and, slightly 
raising one hand, indicated that he was in the 
throes of another idea and did not wish to be 

11 You said it would be experience for 
Edward to be left alone," he said, accusingly. 

" I did," was the reply. 

"You ought to pay more, too, then," 
declared the contractor, " because it's serving 
of your ends as well." 

" We can't split straws," exclaimed Tred- 
gold, impatiently. " If the captain consents 
we three will find the money and divide our 
portion, whatever it is, equally." 

Mr. Chalk, who had been in the clouds 
during this discussion, came back to earth 
again. " If he consents," he said, sadlv : 
" but he won't." 

"Well, he can only refuse," said Mr. 
Tredgold ; " and, anyway, we'll have the first 
refusal. Things like that soon get about. 
What do you say to a stroll? I can think 
better while ffqjrwWwgFf 1 



His friends assenting, they put on their 
hats and sallied forth. That they should 
stroll in the direction of Dialstone Lane 
surprised neither of them. Mr. Tredgold 
leading, they went round by the church, and 
that gentleman paused so" long to admire the 
architecture that Mr. Stobell got restless. 

u You've seen it before, Tredgold,". he 
said, shortly. 

44 It's a fine old building," said the other. 
44 Binchester ought to be proud of it Why, 
here we are at Captain Bowers's ! " 

44 The house has been next to the church 
for a couple o' hundred years," retorted his 

44 Let's go in," said Mr. Tredgold. 4< Strike 
while the iron's hot. At any rate," he con- 
cluded, as Mr. Chalk voiced feeble objections, 
44 we can see how the land lies." . 

He knocked at the door and then, step- 
ping aside, left Mr. Chalk to lead the way 
in. Captain Bowers, who was sitting with 
Prudence, looked up at their entrance, and 
putting down his newspaper extended a 
hearty welcome. 

44 Chalk didn't like to pass without looking 
in," said Mr. Tredgold, 44 and I haven't seen 
you for some time. You know Stobell ? " 

The captain nodded, and Mr. Chalk, pale 
with excitement, accepted his accustomed 
pipe from the hands of Miss Drewitt and 
sat nervously awaiting events. Mr. Tasker 
set out the whisky, and, Miss Drewitt avowing 
a fondness for smoke in other people, a com- 
fortable haze soon filled the room. Mr 
Tredgold, with a significant glance at Mr. 
Chalk, said that it reminded him of a sea-fog. 

It only reminded Mr. Chalk, however, of 
a smoky chimney from which he had once 
suffered, and he at once entered into minute 
details. The theme was an inspiriting one, 
and before Mr. Tredgold could hark back to 
the sea again Mr. Stobell was discoursing, 
almost eloquently for him, upon drains. 
From drains to the shortcomings of the 
district council they progressed by natural 
and easy stages, and it was not until Miss 
Drewitt had withdrawn to the clearer atmo- 
sphere above that a sudden ominous silence 
ensued, which Mr. Chalk saw clearly he was 
expected to break. 

44 1 — I've been telling them some of your 
adventures," he said, desperately, as he 
glanced at the captain ; 4< they're both inter- 
ested in such things." 

The latter gave a slight start and glanced 
shrewdly at his visitors. 44 Aye, aye," he 
said, composedly. 

44 Very interesting, some of them," mur- 

Digiiized by CjOOQ I C 

mured Mr. Tredgold. 44 I suppose you'll 
have another voyage or two before you've 
done ? One, at any rate." 

44 No," said the captain, "I've had my 
share of the sea ; other men may have a turn 
now.* There's nothing to take me out again — 

Mr. Tredgold coughed and murmured 
something about breaking off old habits too 

44 It's a fine career," sighed Mr. Chalk. 

44 A manly life," said Mr. Tredgold, 

44 It's like every other profession, it has 
two sides to it," said the captain. 

41 It is not so well paid as it should be," 
said the wily Tredgold, 4i but I suppose one 
gets chances of making money in outside 
ways sometimes." 

The captain assented, and told of a 
steward of .his who had made a small fortune 
by selling Japanese curios to people who 
didn't understand them. 

The conversation was interesting, but 
extremely djstasteful to a business man intent 
upon business. • Mr. Stobell took his pipe 
out of his mouth and cleared his throat. 
44 Why, you might build a hospital with it," 
he burst out, impatiently. 

44 Build a hospital I" repeated the astonished 
captain, as Mr. Chalk bent suddenly to do 
up his shoe-lace. 

44 Think of the orphans you could be a 
father to ! " added Mr. Stobell, making the 
most of an unwonted fit of altruism. 

The captain looked inquiringly at Mr. 

44 And widows," said Mr. Stobell, and, 
putting his pipe in his mouth as a sign that 
he had finished his remarks, gazed stolidly 
at the company. 

44 Stobell must be referring to a story Chalk 
told us of some precious stones you buried, 
I think," said Mr. Tredgold, reddening. 
44 Aren't you, Stobell?" 

44 Of course I am," said his friend. "You 
know that." 

Captain Bowers glanced at Mr. Chalk, but 
that gentleman was still busy with his shoe- 
lace, only looking up when Mr. Tredgold, 
taking the bull by the horns, made the cap- 
tain a plain, straightforward offer to fit out 
and give him the command of an expedition 
to recover the treasure. In a speech which 
included the benevolent Mr. Stobell's hos- 
pitals, widows, and orphans, he pointed out a 
score of reasons why the captain should 
consent, and wound up with a glowing picture 
of Miss Drewitt as the heiress of the wealthiest 





man in Binchesten The captain heard him 
patiently to an end and then shook his head. 

" I passed my word," he said, stiffly. 

Mr. Stobell took his pipe out of his mouth 
again to offer a little encouragement " Tred- 
gold has broke his word before now," he 
observed ; " he's got quite a name for it," 

"But you would go out if it were not for 
that ? " inquired Tredgold, turning a deaf ear 
to this remark. 

" Naturally/' said the captain, smiling ; 
" but, then, you see I did" 

Mr. Tredgold drummed with his fingers on 
the arms of his chair, and after a little hesita- 
tion asked as a great favour to be permitted 
to see the map. As an estate agent, he said, 
he took a professional interest in plans of all 

Captain Bowers rose, and in the midst of 
an expectant silence took the map from the 
bureau, and placing it on the table kept it 
down with his fist. The others drew near 
and inspected it. 

would trust myself. She thinks the same as 
I do about it." 

His stubby forefinger travelled slowly 
round the coast-line until, coming to the 
extreme south-west corner, it stopped , and a 
mischievous smile creased his beard* 

"It's buried here," he observed. "AH 
you've got to do is to find the island and dig 
in that spot," 

Mr. Chalk laughed and shook his head as 
at a choice piece of waggishness. 

"Suppose," said Mr* Tredgold, slowly — 
" suppose anybody found it without your 
connivance, would you take your share?" 

" Let 'em find it first," said the captain. 

"Yes, but would you?" inquired Mr. 

Captain Bowers took up the map and 
returned it to its place in the bureau. " You 
go and find it," he said, with a genial smile. 

" You give us permission ? " demanded 

"Certainly," grinned the captain. "I give 

'the others drew wear and inspected it/ 

" Nobody but Captain Bowers has ever 
seen the other side/' said Mr, Chalk, impres- 

"Except my niece," interposed the captain. 
" She wanted to see it, and I trust her as I 


.. 26. 


you permission to go and dig over all the 
islands in the Pacific ; there's a goodish 
number of them, and it's a fairly common 

" It seeliMltmstf rifti nobody's property," 




said Tredgold, slowly. " That is to say, it's 
anybody's that finds it. It isn't your 
property, Captain Bowers? You lay no 
claim to it?" 

" No, no," said the captain. "It's nothing 
to do with me. You go and find it," 
he repeated, with enjoyment. 

Mr. Tredgold laughed too, and his eye 
travelled mechanically towards the bureau. 
" If we do," he said, cordially, " you shall 
have your share." 

The captain thanked him and, taking up 
the bottle, refilled their glasses. Then, 
catching the dull, brooding eye of Mr. 
Stobell as that plain-spoken man sat in a 
brown study trying to separate the serious 
from the jocular, he drank success to their 
search. He was about to give vent to further 
pleasantries when he was stopped by the 
mysterious behaviour of Mr. Chalk, who, first 
laying a finger on his lip to ensure silence, 
frowned severely and nodded at the door 
leading to the kitchen. 

The other three looked in the direction 
indicated. The door stood half open, and 
the silhouette of a young woman in a large 
hat put the upper panels in shadow. The 
captain rose and, with a vigorous thrust of 
his foot, closed the door with a bang. 

"Eavesdropping," said Mr. Chalk, in a 
tense whisper. 

" There'll be a rival expedition," said the 
captain, falling in with his mood. " I've 
already warned that young woman off once. 
You'd better start to-night." 

He leaned back in his chair and sur- 
veyed the company pleasantly. Somewhat 
to Mr. Chalk's disappointment Mr. Tredgold 
began to discuss agriculture, and they were 
still on that theme when they rose to depart 
some time later. Tredgold and Chalk bade 
the captain a cordial good-night ; but 
Stobell, a creature of primitive impulses, 
found it difficult to shake hands with him. 
On the way home he expressed an ardent 
desire to tell the captain what men of sense 
thought of him. 

The captain lit another pipe after they had 
gone, and for some time sat smoking and 
thinking over the events of the evening. 
Then Mr. Tasker's second infringement of 
discipline occurred to him, and, stretching 
out his hand, he rang the bell. 

"Has that young woman gone?" he in- 
quired, cautiously, as Mr. Tasker appeared. 

"Yessir," was the reply. 

" What about your articles ? " demanded 
the captain, with sudden loudness, "What 
do you mean by it?" 

Digitized by GOOgle 

Mr. Tasker eyed him forlornly. " It ain't 
my fault," he said, at last. "I don't want her." 

"Eh?" said the other, sternly. "Don't 
talk nonsense. What do you have her here 
for, then?" 

"Because I can't help myself," said Mr. 
Tasker, desperately ; " thaf s why. She's 
took a fancy to me, and, that being so, it 
would take more than you and me to keep 
'er away," 

"Rubbish," said his master. 

Mr. Tasker . smiled wanly. " That's my 
reward for being steady," he said, with some 
bitterness ; " that's what comes of having a 
good name in the place. I get Selina Vickers 
after me." 

" You — you must have asked her to come 
here in the first place," said the astonished 

"Ask her?" repeated Mr. Tasker, with 
respectful scorn. "Ask her? She don't 
want no asking." 

" What does she come for, then ? " inquired 
the other. 

"Me," said Mr. Tasker, brokenly. "I 
never dreamt o' such a thing. I was going 
'er way one night — about three weeks ago, it 
was — and I walked with her as far as her 
road — Mint Street Somehow it got put 
about that we were walking out. A week 
afterwards she saw me in Harris's, the 
grocer's, and waited outside for me till I 
come out and walked 'ome with me. After 
she came in the other night I found we was 
keeping company. To-night— to-night she 
got a ring out o' me, and now we're engaged." 

" What on earth did you give her the ring 
for if you don't want her?" inquired the 
captain, eyeing him with genuine concern. 

" Ah, it seems easy, sir," said the unfor- 
tunate ; " but you don't know Selina. She 
bought the ring and said I was to pay it off 
a shilling a week. She took the first shilling 

His master sat back and regarded him in 

" You don't know Selina, sir," repeated 
Mr. Tasker, in reply to this manifestation. 
" She always gets her own way. Her father 
ain't 'it 'er mother not since Selina was 
seventeen. He dursent. The last time Selina 
went for him tooth and nail ; smashed all the 
plates off the dresser throwing 'em at him, 
and ended by chasing of him up the road in 
his shirt-sleeves." 

The captain grunted. 

" That was two years ago," continued Mr. 
Tasker ; " and his spirit's quite broke. He 'as 
to give all his money except a shilling a week 

" ■-■ I I L| 1 1 Ifl I I I '-J 1*1 1 v 




to his wife, and he's not allowed to go into 
pubs. If he does it's no good, because they 
won't serve J im, If they do Selina goes in 
next morning and gives them a piece of T er 
mind. She don't care who's there or what 
she says, and the consequence is Mr. 
Vickers can't get served in Binehester 
for love or money, That'll show you what 
she is." 

"Well, tell her I won't have her here," 
said the captain, rising. " Good-night." 

and that all were silent when he spoke, felt 
a flutter of hope, 

"Well," said the captain, sharply, as he 
turned and caught sight of him, 4i what are 
you waiting there for?" 

Mr. Tasker drifted towards the door which 
led upstairs. 

" I — I thought you were thinking of some- 
thing we could do to prevent her coming, 
sir," he said, slowly. " It's hard on me, 
because as a matter of fact " 

'all she rays rs hkb's not afkaid ok you t nor six like you/' 

"I've told her over and over again, sir," 
was the reply, "and alt she says is she's not 
afraid of you, nor six like you." 

The captain fell back silent, and Mr. Tasker, 
pausing in a respectful attitude, watched 
him wistfully. The captain's brows were 
bent in thought, and Mr, Tasker, reminding 
himself that crews had trembled at his nod 

li Well ? " said the captain. 

"I — I've 'ad my eye on another young 
lady for some time," concluded Mr. Tasker- 

He was standing on the bottom stair as he 
spoke, with his hand on the latch. Under 
the baleful stare with which the indignant 
captain favoured him, he closed it softly and 
mounted heavily to bed* 

(To bt continued,) 

by Google 

Original from 

IKE other peoples the world over, 
the Afghans use the beast fable 
to point morals and illustrate rules 
of conduct. Perhaps the moral 
is not invariably such as com- 
mends itself to Western standards, and the 
methods applauded are sometimes not such 
as would make for popularity in more 
civilized circles. But what would you ? The 
characteristics of a race colour its literature, 
and the more 
homely the litera- 
ture the clearer the 
colouring. Hence 
the Afghan beast 
fable more fre- 
quently than not 
reflects the respect- 
ful admiration ac- 
corded the success- 
ful exercise of craft 
and cunning, for 
which self- helpful 
qualities the dwel- 
lers on the other 
side of the North 
Western Frontier of 
India are famed* 

Soldiers who are 
acquainted with 
Afghan usages in 
warfare will appreci- 
ate the truth of the 
maxim which fur- 
nishes the text for 
the story of the 
Camel-rider, the 
Snake, and the Fox* 
A man riding on 
his camel happened 
to pass a place 
where a jungle fire 
was raging, and a 
snake, calling from 
the midst of the 


Illustrated by 

J. A. Shepherd, 

flames, begged his aid. The man, ignoring 
the snake's enmity to the human race and 
considering only his present danger, con- 
sented to save him : he lowered his 
saddle-bag to the ground, and the snake, 
having coiled himself up 
in it, was carried by his 
rescuer to a place of 
safety. Then the man 
opened his bag and bade 
snake go, with an 
admonition to behave 
better towards mankind 
for the future. The 
snake made 
answer, "Until 
I have stung 
thee and this 
camel of thine 
I will not 
depart ! " 

The man, 
hurt by this 
black ingrati- 
tude, drew the 
snakes atten- 
tion to the 
service he had just ren- 
dered. The snake admit- 
ted his debt, but pointed 
out that his rescuer had 
acted injudiciously, in 
view of the hereditary 
enmity existing between 
snakes and men. The 
two proceeded to argue 
the point in commend- 
ably temperate spirit, 
the snake laying stress 
igirTal fP* 1 the circumstance that 


DtPAHT ! " 




mankind " always return evil for good " ; and 
the man, denying it, eventually agreed that if 
the snake could find a witness to the truth of 
his assertion he would submit to be stung. 

The witness was found in the person of an 
elderly cow-buffalo. Examined by the snake, 
she succinctly reviewed her career, and gave 
it as her opinion that man's creed was to 
return evil for good, inasmuch as her owner, 
when she ceased to give milk, turned her out 
to graze till she should be fat enough to kill. 
Upon this testimony the snake claimed fulfil- 
ment of the bargain. The man, however 
urged that two witnesses were necessary, and, 
the snake consenting, a tree was called upon 
for his opinion. The tree, in a few well- 
chosen sentences, recalled the fact that for 
years he had granted shade to all men who 
sought his protection in the heat of day ; but, 
he complained, when they had rested they 
always looked him 
over and, if they hap- 
pened to have tools, 
lopped off a branch to 
make a spade-handle 
oraxe-hafL They went 
even further, reckon- 
ing up the use they 
could make of their 
protector from the 
scorching sun if they 
reduced him to planks, 
In short, the tree was 
distinctly of the cow- 
buffalo's way of think- 
ing. The cam el -man, 
sorely perplexed, was 
wondering how he 
could gain time when 
a fox came by and 
asked, in his sarcastic 
way, "What kindness 
hast thou shown this 
snake, that he desires 
to do thee harm?" 

Having heard the 
story the fox refused to believe it \ the bag 
was small, and he was sure so large a snake 
could not get into it Of course, the snake 
had no alternative but to show that he could ; 
so the fox obligingly held the bag open for 
him, and when he was fairly entrapped 
handed him over to the man to kill. "A wise 
man should not be gulled by the cries for 
mercy of his foes ; otherwise he will fall into 
misfortune," is the suggestive moral. It does 
not say much for Afghan principle, does it ? 

The fox f as ever, serves the Afghan fabulist 
for the personification of cunning and 

ingenuity. The tale of the Tiger, the Wolf, 
and the Fox exhibits the last-named in the 
character of the discreet and sagacious 
courtier. These three animals one day went 
hunting together, and having killed a wild 
hill-goat, a deer, and a hare, took them home 
to the tiger's den to eat. Having settled 
themselves comfortably, the tiger requested 
the wolf to divide the game as he thought 
fit ; whereupon the wolf allotted the hi 11 -goat 
as the biggest to the tiger, the deer to him- 
self, and the hare to the fox, " It is strange 
that thou in my very presence talk est of * I ' 
and * mine/ " said the tiger* " Who and 
what art thou, and what opinion hast thou of 
me ? " and raising his paw he struck the 
wolf dead on the spot. Then he turned to 
the fox and requested him to divide the 
spoil The fox instantly replied that the 
hill -goat would do for his Majesty's breakfast, 




the deer would serve for his Majesty's dinner 
at noon, and, of course,' the hare must be 
reserved for his Majesty's supper, "And 
from whom," said the tiger, with well-feigned 
curiosity, " didst thou karn this mode of 
distribution and this sagacity ? " 

The fox replied that he was one who took 
warning from the fate of others. The tiger 
(who could not have been very hungry) 
expounded his own idea of justice, which 
was that the sagacious fox should have the 
whole bag of game while the tiger got more 
for himself ; "and after this I will do what- 




cerned, for it is clearly to their advantage to 
interest the readers of their advertisements 
rather than to bore them. 

An advertisement has three things to 
accomplish before it can be called good. 
First, it must attract attention ; secondly, it 
must arouse interest ; and thirdly, it must 
leave an impression on the brain — the 
message must ha% F e struck home. It may 
in some cases make you want a particular 
article, but in ninety-nine cases out of a 
hundred its seed lies dormant until the 
moment arrives for you to make your pur 

chase ; and then, if the advertisement has 
done its work as a good advertisement should 
do, your brain couples the article with a 
certain name t and that particular brand 
stands a very big chance of finding you a 

To catch the eye is the first essential of a 
good advertisement ; the first sense to which 
it appeals is that of sight. The object of the 
skilful advertiser is to make the space he 
occupies — whether a page or a portion of a 
page — the most conspicuous in the publica- 
tion. Turn for a moment to any page of 


The anw^< ft btti u«d 1* *c Lis*»( Camfutm * facton** 1* a 

Atw&y* order Lie-big a* LCMCO. 

{X .,h,j.1 i*f,r** /.■irfirpw if*** * 

r L+f t 



Produces the Richest Custard 
Without Eggs. 

and' thou rciponiiblc for Household minifiiiitnt. 

Rich in Nuth i me nt.- Delicate in Flavofl 

Original rami 




»l ranter thtci your 
f«4 fflikei you. 
Quaker Oat» otftkti 
y^ur blood li&ftlc \ 
«rvtY ilroni and 
atcftdy ^ braiA ckir 
and Khu' : 
■HKl*l _ pairsrfgl. 

Aiic* A]]~Tbfn'i Ncii^m,; Ufct 

-- Quaker Oats ^~ 

Vr * 

advertisements you please, open and shut it 
quickly, and you will generally find that 
there is one advertisement which has ini me- 
diately attracted your eye. Let two persons 
try at the same time, and on comparing 
notes it will generally be found that the same 
advertisement has been spotted by both. 
That one possesses the first essential of a 
good advertisement more conspicuously than 
its fellows. 

Try again, and this time run through the 
pages rapidly , so that every leaf of the 
journal falls quickly from your thumb. There 

t«€sE CKrj-nicjbN vnw. hi. m*h> h,*hi mum 

■ i\ !V!HVVh\SkVM M \',W\ i V UIFK THF 

a^v of a tj fu moxrns <wtFifc feu cpq,^ 




Vol wii.— 3Q 


are certain to be one ojf two pages which will 
stand out conspicuously and lea\e their 
impression on your eye beyond all the rest, 
and you will turn back to see what it is all 

The cunning advertiser has thus obtained 
his audience — it is now his aim to keep it. 
Here he has to introduce some connecting 
link to hold ihe attention until his message 
h_, been duly delivered. Where the original 
Jesign has nothing particular about it to 
hold the attention, thereJs no better method 

than dl^BSff artiffflie^ *"*** 



generally a question, which you are compelled 
to readj and, of course, to investigate further. 

It may be said that the language of a 
good advertisement should resemble that of 
a telegram — straight to the point ; the infor- 
mation is to be given in the most concise, 
clear, and complete form possible, confined 
to the main feature or features of the article 
advertised, so as to convince the prospective 
buyer of the excellence of the goods in a 
short, logical manner, and to do this so 
that fact and not fiction is apparent to the 

In drawing up an advertisement there are 

ment has three things to accomplish before 
it can be called good, but in judging the 
quality of the complete article two more 
things should be added, of less importance, 
and really subdivisions of the striking home 
of the message. 

The points one might apportion for each 
feature might be as follows : — 


1. Power to attract attention 40 

2. Power to hold attention ... ... 20 

Prominence of the article advertised 20 
H re vi l y of necessary in forma t ion * . . 10 
Composition «.* ... ... ,,. 10 

And now, how do we stand in comparison 







v W 



Known by Its 







&&■ .' 



for the competitors for the £iMO in ptizes I*— 
will the above Very striking Advertisement help 
To sell Bctcbam's Pills? 

We cer Uinly think to. because, like the Pilli. thr 
moot qutstJQn will be in everybody ■ jnouth. and 
the source "I ihe enlertaming query will invari- 
ably t* associated with the well-known remedy 





many ways of incurring failure, and one very 
sure method is the abuse of one's rivals. 
An advertisement which is meant to be taken 
too seriously is rarely a success* l,el the 
reader's eye catch any of the hackneyed 
phrases, *' Beware of Imitations/ 1 "Thou- 
sands of Testimonials," " Is the Best," and 
such like, and it will immediately pass on 
to something else. Such well-worn and 
unconvincing statements excite in him no v 
interest, hut rather a feeling of distrust. 
It has been said that a magazine advertise 

with other nations in this matter of effective 
advertising? It is universally admitted that 
advertisement is the soul of business. How, 
then, does the business man or this country 
compare with the business man of America- 
Some of our great advertising firms certainly 
display no very marked inferiority, but as a 
rule it is unfortunately true that to glance 

trough the announcements in an American 
agazine is to be brought face to face with 
the enormously, superior ability in design of 
the American over the Englishman. Here you 





have, as it were, your finger on the pulse of a 
country's commerce; you can feel the vigorous 
beats, or the languid and anaemic current. 
And the main reason is just this : that the 
American never loses sight of the fact that 


the first three essentials in attracting and keep* 
ing attention are novelty, novelty, novelty. 
Their skill in attracting attention in new 
ways is always a matter of admiration. 

The question altogether is one of far more 
importance than it may seem on first con- 
sideration ; it is hardly too much to say that 
the prosperity of a nation's trade depends 
upon its ability in attractive advertising. 

Advertisement is an art of its own, and if 
you are going to advertise to any considerable 
extent and do it yourself, either your business 
must suffer to allow you time to do your 

by Google 

advertising well, or your advertising must 
suffer so that you may properly attend to 
your business. 

Of course, it is the advertising that suffers. 
If you do it yourself, sooner or later it be- 
comes a worry, and when a reminder arrives 
that your copy is due very likely your in- 
structions will be to repeat the last, or 
possibly, if you have a minute or two to 
spare, you will sit down and grind out a lot 
of nonsense which no one cares to read. If 
you wish to make any genuine effort properly 

i ■ .. • ■■ • -..-■■■■ 



the ijT4cm, TcrtifjiPg i*- jqpuJiM tLLbdki e& <li-* i\r 

TliA ^\Im#W*AP*4 h» *nn<!cif(il twnlww wiAfrt and 1i 

■ no viniirmni i™*,^ ™ *w c^n ** n^mnnm. 

Lumthi£*. Sciauta. Uld dllstM** <rf ll»t Oral md Uin|[» 

It rapidff heal* Wound*, 5am, Bi#™* *™d I'iilm** 

Stioultl t>e In BVtiT HouBfihold. 

78, New Oxford Street, London. 

5*]J bj ftil Clmn ■■* Krf*4*n* Vendor* 


to employ the most important factor in 
commerce, get someone who understands the 
art to do it for you ; engage a good man, 
and do not expect to get the same for five 
pounds as you would for ten pounds. 

Original from 


Copyright, 1904* by G*or£e Newnes t Ltd, r 

[We shall be glad to receive C&niribtitfans t& this section, and ia pay for such as are accepted.] 

" I beg to send you 
a photograph of some 
little boys in this 
parish who were tak- 
ing part in a Rand of 
Hope entertainment 
The item on the pro- 
gramme was called 
4 Human Notes/ and 
the little songsters, 
each taking the note 
he represented, sang 
a peal of hells and 
extracts from nursery 
rhymes. I thought 
the idea might be 
useful for other places. 
The framework is 

easily made and costs little, and was most heartily 
received wherever tried. 5 * — Miss Statham, Kiver 
Vicarage. Dover, Photo, by .Mr. Ray Sherman. 


the event. Here, at last, is an actual photograph of a 
wild duck at the moment of receiving its coup de graVe . 
It was in a lonely, Low -lying bay on the West Coast 
of Ireland, Ducks were homing in fair numbers 
overhead on their way to the Large lakes lying inland, 
when, telling my photographic friend to get well 
behind me and snap away as fast as he could, I 
advanced a few paces and also merrily snapped away. 
Upon developing the series at home that night we 
found that between us our snaps had resulted in our 
. obtaining the photograph here reproduced. It sliows 
clearly that a duck — well shot — falls like a plumb to 
the earth, head foremost, and may sene to correct 
some of the imaginary pictures of similar inci- 
dents."— Mr. Dudley M. Stone, 8, Chiehele Koad, 
Crieklewood, N.W. 

+ i 1 Un>k ihis photograph during the recent heavy 
floods in Wales. A mission -room had been washed 
away during the night, and it was an uncommon sight 
seeing a party of men l towing f the edifice liack to 
a pLace of safely. It struck me as being a unique 
incident, so I forward it on lo you."— Mrs. E. L. F. 
Mansergh, 59, Madeley I^oad, Ealing, W. 


" Painters of sporting subjects have oft im por- 
trayed, from memory necessarily, a bird in the act 
of being shotj cither immediate! 




2 37 

w This extraordinary photograph was laktn a short 
time ago in riltsburg,- Pa., of a nouse 'which is being 
moved up a bill, the former site being bought by a 
railway Company. It is a fifteen or twenty -roomed 
house, built of brick, the hill is one hundred and fifty 
feet high, and the cost of moving the house between 
j£6,ooo and ,£7,000." — Mr, D. Munro, ai, Sydney 
Road, West Ealing, W. 

This is a photograph of a piece of oak with a stone 
in the centre, two inches square, found by Mr. A, 
St even T sawyer, St, Mary's Isle Estate, Kirkcudbright. 
The stone was situated three feet from the ground and 
three inches in from the bark. Nothing could be 
discerned of it from the outside,- — The photo, is by 
Mr. A. Kelln Henderson, chemist, Kirkcudbright. 

** Can anyone give a clue to this * Curiosity ' ? It 

is a dark -green silk ribbon eight inches by one and a 
half inches, the accompanying letters , figures, and 
key being beautifully embroidered in silver thread. 
The dots between the upper letters are small 
metal discs secured by a tiny metal bead sewn on 
with yellow silk. The wards of the key are sewn in 
black silk. The embroider)- is lacked with canvas 
and interlined with seemingly soft paper. 1 found it 
some years ago m a parcel of doll's finery given to 
my little daughter by a friend who could' throw no 
light upon it. This badge has been the cause of 
much guesswork , specula- 
tion,- and earnest inquiry and 
search. 1 * — Mrs. Anne W, 
Newton, llallybeg, Ballin- 
glen, Rat hd rum, Ireland. 


"The fox in the photo- 
graph was discovered quite 
dead in this curious posi- 
lion on the morning of 
November 17th, 1903, by 
Mr, IL Sparling, Jairy- 
man, Tad caster. The wooden erection is a poultry 
house, and the hole from which the fox is hanging is, 
when the door is shut for the night, the only possible 
means of entering or leaving the same. Reynard had 
evidently entered by ihis aperture^ for inside were 
discovered three fowls he had killed. (These are 
shown at the fool of the photograph..} In leaving by 
the same means he stuck fast, the hole narrowing to 
quite a point at the bottom, and the more he struggled 
the faster he bad got, till at last he could struggle no 
longer, and death intervened, prolwibly from exhaus- 
tion."— Mr. John H. Hull, chemist, Tadcaster. 




" Cave Davaar, or the Picture Cave, as it is some- 
times called, near Campbelltown, Argyllshire, is 
noted as being the repository of a mural painting 
of the Crucifixion of our I^ord When the painting 
was first discovered ils author and the manner of 
its c real ion were a mystery. Shortly, the story of 
the picture and its romance is as follows : Upon 
a smooth mural surface of the rock which forms 
the inner wall of the interior of the cave, and in a 
position adjusted to the light which penetrates the 
cavern, visitors see a life-size represent ai inn of Christ 
on the Cross, measuring seven feet from head to foot, 
the cross itself being fifteen feet in height. It appears 
that Mr McKinnon, a native of Caiupbdllown, and 
now of Nantwich, was, it is believed, originally 
a ship's carpenter by trade, with a strong artistic 

** I send you a photo, taken by Mrs. Hind, of 
Stoke-on-Trent. The photo, shows a railwiy- 
station on the Eskdale and Ravenglass line, which 
consists of a flat -bottomed boat turned up on its sidc f 
with a seat inside for passengers, I think it likely 
this is the most primitive and unique station in the 
United Kingdom I may add that the guard is also 
station-master, ticket -col lector, and porter at the 
different station-; along the line, of which there are 
six or seven/ 1 — Mr. M. Hind, Felsham Rectory, 
Bury St. Edmunds. 

i: This strangely -placed hsuse is one of the pranks 
played by a cyclone that almost destroyed the little 
town of St. Charles, Minn., LLS. V* t on October 6th, 
igoj. The building was carried from the hill, which 
may he seen in the left-hand corner of the photo,, 
for the distance of half a mile. At the time the 
storm picket! it up it was occupied by Mrs, Edward 
Drew and two children, who escaped uninjured. 
The house itself was practical ly undamaged, though 
left in the topsy-turvy condition shown here.* 1 — 
Mr, Geo, E, Luxton, 3,220, Third Avenue Minn. 

taste, which w r as afterwards afford- 
ed proper training through the 
patronage and assistance of the 
Argyll family. One night , about 
twelve years ago* he had a dream- 
He saw, in his dream, on the inner 
wall of the Cave Davaar a vivid 
picture of the Crucifixion, and so 
strikingly real and soul -stirring 
was the vision that it continually 
haunted him in his waking hours, 
fie could not rest* and, as he 
himself said* * I touk my brushes 
and materials and went to the 
cave. I found the smooth sur- 
face I had seen in my dream, and 
set to work and painted. I stopped 
in the cave for twenty -four hours 
until I had completed my task, 
and when I had finished I had 
painted just the picture I had 
seen in my dream.'"— Mr. S. J, 
Oakley, H.M.S. Northampton^ 
:*n 1 1 Service. 




"T send you a snap-shot „ taken by me, 
of a man falling ninety feel \ The hi^h- 
diver (forming pari of a street carnival 
show) climbed up his ninety- fool 1. 1 elder 
set up in the mam street of Washing on* 
N.C*. half an hour t>efore he was to 
make his flaring leap into four feet of 
water- As lie tested I he ladder to see if 
all was in readiness one of the guy ropes 
broke, and, to the horror of the crowd 
below, man and ladder came crashing 
down to the pavement- With rare presence 
nf mind ihe athlete turned when he felt 
the ladder start and slid down for his life, 
thus lessening the fall hy almost halt. 
Strange to say he was nni killed, hut his 
tegs were badly broken.** — -Mitt Mary 
Brickell Hoyt, Candler Post Office, liun 
combe Co, t North Carolina. 

We have published a great many photo- 
graphs* at different times, of strange and 
beautiful effects wrought by frost, hut the 
annexed is so striking and peculiar that we 
have no hesilalion in adding il lo the 
number, Jn the words of the sender : 
** My photograph is of an enormous 
icicle, or one might rail it a land keUrg 
on a small scale. The ice was formed 
during a recent frost by the overflow of 
a spring which runs from a pipe about 
eighteen feet from the ground into the 
branches of a tree, In ihe full sunlight 
it was a very pretty and novel sight/* — 
Mr. Chas, W. Chilton, 17, YYesi Gate, 
Slcaford, Lines. 

"The accompanying photographs are of a kitchen 
dinner-plate, which, as 1 discovered by chance, con- 
sists of two dislinct pieces held together merely by 
their peculiar conformation* There is enough spring 
in ihe outer piece to enable the parts to be separated. 

which lias been repeatedly done ; but when they are 
reunited the whole will easily pass for a slightly 
cracked platr. Krom ihe colour of the fraclure il is 
evident that the plate was in use in its present con- 
dition for at least some weeks/™- — Mr* S, II Whanker, 
62, Acre Lane, Brixton, S*U\ 



(E E 1 ere is the photo, of an oyster-shell which has 
been in a tea-ketile for seven years. When I put 
it in it weighed almut one and a half ounces, and 
was nni more than three ihirty- 
seconds of an inch I hick in any 
part, Now r it is three- quarters 
of an inch thick and weighs 
eleven ounces. It had I ami out 
in I he garden for a long time and 
lost all the crust, which accounted 
for it being so thin at first. No 
one has ever been able to say 
what it is, although many have 
seen it in the glass case in ihc 
shop/'- Mr. \< r G, 1 -'osier. Tost 
Office Drug Stores, High Street, 
Hurfnrt], Oxon. 

clue was given as io the intended destination 
than that aff rded by the physical pecu- 
liarities of the Snap* itself — the address on 
the side of the card being written during 
transmission. The full address as shown on 
the 'map* is as follows, and is that of vours 
faithfully: *To 1-dward H. W. Wintfield 
King, Esq.j 5, Spring Terrace, Kichmond- 
on-'l hames, Angleterre.' " . This is, perhaps, 
the most curious post -card of the many which 
we have published, and which does the Post 
Office the most credit, 

" At the present time, when the effect upon 
the rainfall of the kingdom of multiplying 
electrical agencies is Wing discussed, it is 
interesting to note the results which follow 
upon the use of .electric lamps in the public 
thoroughfares of, our towns. There is to lie 
seen at Southend -on -Sea a remarkable in- 
stance of the influence which the electric 
street lamps have upon the duration of leaves. 
In Cliff Town Parade those trees contiguous 10 the 
lamps were still well covered on December the 
1st ult. on the side nearest Lhe light,' when the next 
tree* only a few r yards distant, was entirely denuded 

14 This curious post -card was 
delivered to me in kit Initond 
thirty -eight hours after Wing 
posted in Lau*»inne. No other 


) ^ i 1; j •i D 



of leaves. Our photo* 
graph gives the first 
tree in the parade 
with a good show of 
leaves on its from 
half, but the hack 
of the same tree, 
which has been 
shaded from the 
lamp, has entirely 
shed its leaves. The 
next few trees Are 
also quite Imre of 
leaves, and looking 
down the row one 
sees that only those 
trees opposite the 
lamps fjcar any sign 
of verdure." — Mr, 
W, J, Cooper, 163, 
Stanstead Road, 
Forest Hill, S.E* 

by Google 

Original from 

("""rw^oL'' Original from 



{Ste jxige 250.) 

by Google 

Original from 

The Strand Magazine. 

Vol. xxvii. 

MARCH, 1904. 

No. 159. 



VI.— The Adventure of "Black Peter. 

HAVE never known my friend 
to be in better form, both 
mental and physical, than in 
the year '95. His increasing 
fame had brought with it an 
immense practice, and I should 
be guilty of an indiscretion if I were even to 
hint at the identity of some of the illustrious 
clients who crossed our humble threshold 
in Baker Street. Holmes, however, like all 
great artists, lived for his art's sake, and, save 
in the case of the Duke of Holdernesse, I 
have seldom known him claim any large 
reward for his inestimable services. So un- 
worldly was he — or so capricious — that he 
frequently refused his help to the powerful 
and wealthy where the problem made no 
appeal to his sympathies, while he would 
devote weeks of most intense application to 
the affairs of some humble client whose 
case presented those strange and dramatic 
qualities which appealed to his imagination 
and challenged his ingenuity. 

In this memorable year '95 a curious and 
incongruous succession of cases had engaged 
his attention, ranging from his famous inves- 
tigation of the sudden death of Cardinal 
Tosca — an inquiry which was carried out by 
him at the express desire of His Holiness the 
Pope — down to his arrest of Wilson, the 
notorious canary-trainer, which removed a 
plague-spot from the East-end of London. 
Close on the heels of these two famous 
cases came the tragedy of Woodman's Lee, 
and the very obscure circumstances which 
surrounded the death of Captain Peter 

VoL xxvii.— 31. 

Carey. No record of the doings of Mr. 
Sherlock Holmes would be complete which 
did not include some account of this very 
unusual affair. 

During the first week of July my friend 
had been absent so often and so long from 
our lodgings that I knew he had some- 
thing on hand. The fact that several rough- 
looking men called during that time and 
inquired for Captain Basil made me under- 
stand that Holmes was working somewhere 
under one of the numerous disguises and 
names with which he concealed his own 
formidable identity. He had at least five small 
refuges in different parts of London in which 
he was able to change his personality. He 
said nothing of his business to me, and it was 
not my habit to force a confidence. The 
first positive sign which he gave me of the 
direction which his investigation was taking 
was an extraordinary one. He had gone out 
before breakfast, and I had sat down to 
mine, when he strode into the room, his hat 
upon his head and a huge barbed-headed 
spear tucked like an umbrella under his 

" Good gracious, Holmes ! " I cried. 
" You don't mean to say that you have been 
walking about London with that thing ? " 

" I drove to the butcher's and back." 

"The butcher's?" 

" And 1 return with an excellent appetite. 
There can be no question, my dear Watson, 
of the value of exercise before breakfast. But 
I am prepared to bet that you will not guess 
the form that my exercise has taken." 

Copyright, 19041 hy A. Conan Doyle, in the United States of America, 





"I will not attempt it." 

He chuckled as he poured out the coffee. 

"If you could have looked into Allardyce's 
back shop you would have seen a dead pig 
swung from a hook in the ceiling, and a 
gentleman in his shirt-sleeves furiously 
stabbing at it with this weapon. I was that 
energetic person, and I have satisfied myself 
that by no exertion of my strength can 1 
transfix the pig with a single blow* Perhaps 
you would care to try ? M 

M Not for worlds, But whv were you doing 
this ? » 

" Because it seemed to me to have an in- 
direct bearing upon the mystery of Wood- 
man's Lee. Ah, Hopkins, I got your wire 
last night, and I have been expecting you. 
Come and join us*" 

Our visitor was an exceedingly alert man, 
thirty years of age, dressed in a quiet tweed 
suit, but retaining the erect bearing of one 
who was accustomed to official uniform. I 
recognised him at once as Stanley Hopkins, 
a young police inspector for whose future 

Holmes had high hopes, while he in turn pro- 
fessed the admiration and respect of a pupil 
for the scientific methods of the famous 
amateur. Hopkins y s brow was clouded, and 
he sat down with an air of deep dejection. 

" No, thank you, sir. I breakfasted before 
1 came round, I spent the night in town, 
for I came up yesterday to report." 

" And what had you to report ? " 

" Failure, sir ; absolute failure," 

u You have made no progress?" 

" None." 

" Dear me ! I must have a look at the 

" I wish to heavens that you would, Mr. 
Holmes. It's my first big chance, and 1 am 
at my wits* end. For goodness' sake come 
down and lend me a hand.* 1 

" Well, well, it just happens that I have 
already read all the available evidence, in- 
eluding the report of the inquest, with some 
care. By the way, what do you make of 
that tobacco-pouch found on the scene of 
the «rin^ rv . jy^^^gflr e? ■ 



Hopkins looked surprised. 

"It was the man's own pouch, sir. His 
initials were inside it. And it was of seal- 
skin — and he an old sealer." 

" But he had no pipe." 

" No, sir, we could find no pipe ; indeed, 
he smoked very little. And yet he might 
have kept some tobacco for his friends." 

" No doubt. I only mention it because if 
I had been handling the case I should have 
been inclined to make that the starting-point 
of my investigation. However, my friend 
Dr. Watson knows nothing of this matter, 
and I should be none the worse for hearing 
the sequence of events once more. Just 
give us some short sketch of the essentials." 

Stanley Hopkins drew a slip of paper from 
his pocket. 

14 1 have a few dates here which will give 
you the career of the dead man, Captain 
Peter Carey. He was born in '45 — fifty 
years of age. He was a most daring and 
successful seal and whale, fisher. In 1883 
he commanded the steam sealer Sea Unicorn, 
of Dundee. He had then had several suc- 
cessful voyages in succession, and in the 
following year, 1884, he retired. After that 
he travelled for some years, and finally he 
bought a small place called Woodman's 
Lee, near Forest Row, in Sussex. There 
he has lived for six years, and there he died 
just a week ago to-day. 

"There were some most singular points 
about the man. In ordinary life he was a 
strict Puritan — a silent, gloomy fellow. His 
household consisted of his wife, his daughter, 
aged twenty, and two female servants. 
These last were continually changing, for it 
was never a very cheery situation, and some- 
times it became past all bearing. The man 
was an intermittent drunkard, and when he 
had the fit on him he was a perfect fiend. 
He has been known to drive his wife and his 
daughter out of doors in the middle of the 
night, and flog them through the park until 
the whole village outside the gates- was 
aroused by their screams. 
* " He was summoned once for a savage 
assault upon the old vicar, who had called 
upon him to remonstrate with him upon his 
conduct. In short, Mr. Holmes, you would 
go far before you found a more dangerous 
man than Peter Carey, and I have heard that 
he bore the same character when he com- 
manded his ship. He was known in the trade 
as Black Peter, and the name was given him, 
not only on account of his swarthy features 
and the colour of his huge beard, but for the 
humours which were the terror of all around 

him. I need not say that he was loathed and 
avoided by every one of his neighbours, and 
that I have not heard one single word of 
sorrow about his terrible end. 

" You must have read in the account of the 
inquest about the man's cabin, Mr. Holmes ; 
but perhaps your friend here has not heard of 
it. He had built himself a wooden outhouse 
— he always called it 'the cabin' — a few 
hundred yards from his house, and it was 
here that he slept every night. It was a 
little, single-roomed hut, sixteen feet by ten. 
He kept the key in his pocket, made his own 
bed, cleaned it himself, and allowed no other 
foot to cross the threshold. There are small 
windows on each side, which were covered 
by curtains and never opened. One of these 
windows was turned towards the high road, 
and when the light burned in it at night 
the folk used to point it out to each other 
and wonder what Black Peter was doing in 
there. That's the window, Mr. Holmes, 
which gave us one of the few bits of positive 
evidence that came out at the inquest. 

"You remember that a stonemason, 
named Slater, walking from Forest Row 
about one o'clock in the morning — two 
days before the murder — stopped as he 
passed the grounds and looked at the square 
of light still shining among the trees. He 
swears that the shadow of a man's head 
turned sideways was clearly visible on the 
blind, and that this shadow was certainly 
not that of Peter Carey, whom he knew well. 
It was that of a bearded man, but the beard 
was short and bristled forwards in a way very 
different from that of the captain. So he 
says, but he had been two hours in the 
public-house, and it is some distance from 
the road to the window. Besides, this refers 
to the Monday, and the crime was done 
upon the Wednesday. 

" On the Tuesday Peter Carey was in one 
of his blackest moods, flushed with drink 
and as savage as a dangerous wild beast. 
He roamed about the house, and the women 
ran for it when they heard him coming. Late 
in the evening he went down to his own hut. 
About two o'clock the following morning his 
daughter, who slept with her window open, 
heard a most fearful yell from that direction, 
but it was no unusual thing for him to bawl 
and shout when he was in drink, so no 
notice was taken. On rising at seven 
one of the maids noticed that the door of 
the hut was open, but so great was the terror 
which the man caused that it was midday 
before anyone would venture down to see 

what had become of him. Peeping into the 

UNIYtn_>l 1 1 Ur mlLHIbMN 



open door they saw a sight which sent them 
flying with white faces into the village. 
Within an hour I was on the spot and had 
taken over the case. 

" Well, I have fairly steady nerves, as you 
know, Mr. Holmes, but I give you my word 
that I got a shake when I put my head into 
that little house. It was droning like a 
harmonium with the flies and bluebottles, and 
the floor and walls were like a slaughter-house. 
He had called it a cabin, and a cabin it was 
sure enough, for you would have thought that 
you were in a ship. There was a bunk at 
one end, a sea-chest, maps and charts, a 
picture of the Sea Unicorn, a line of log- 
books on a shelf, all exactly as one would 
expect to find it in a captain's room. And 
there in the middle of it was the man himself, 
his face twisted like a lost soul in torment, 
and his great brindled beard stuck upwards 
in his agony. Right through his broad 
breast a steel harpoon had been driven, and 
it had sunk deep into the wood of the wall 
behind him. He was pinned like a beetle 
on a card. Of course, he was quite dead, 
and had been so from the instant that he 
had uttered that last yell of agony. 

" I know your methods, sir, and I applied 
them. Before I permitted anything to be 
moved I examined most carefully the ground 
outside, and also the floor of the room. 
There were no footmarks." 

" Meaning that you saw none ? " 

" I assure you, sir, that there were none." 

"My good Hopkins, I have investigated 
many crimes, but I have never yet seen one 
which was committed by a flying creature. 
As long as the criminal remains upon two 
legs so long must there be some indentation, 
some abrasion, some trifling displacement 
which can be detected by the scientific 
searcher. It is incredible that this blood- 
bespattered room contained no trace which 
could have aided us. I understand, however, 
from the inquest that there were some objects 
which you failed to overlook ? " 

The young inspector winced at my com- 
panion's ironical comments. 

" I was a fool not to call you in at the time, 
Mr. Holmes. However, that's past praying 
for now. Yes, there were several objects in 
the room which called for special attention. 
One was the harpoon with which the deed 
was committed. It had been snatched down 
from a rack on the wall. Two others 
remained there, and there was a vacant place 
for the third. On the stock was engraved 
i Ss. Sea Unicorn, Dundee.' This seemed to 
establish that the crime had been done in a 

moment of fury, and that the murderer 
had seized the first weapon which came in 
his way. The fact that the crime was com- 
mitted at two in the morning, and yet Peter 
Carey was fully dressed, suggested that he 
had an appointment with the murderer, 
which is borne out by the fact that a bottle 
of rum and two dirty glasses stood upon the 

" Yes," said Holmes ; " I think that both 
inferences are permissible. Was there any 
other spirit but rum in the room ? " 

" Yes ; there was a tantalus containing 
brandy and whisky on the sea-chest. It is 
of no importance to us, however, since the 
decanters were full, and it had therefore not 
been used." 

" For all that its presence has some signi- 
ficance," said Holmes. " However, let us 
hear some more about the objects which do 
seem to you to bear upon the case." 

" There was this tobacco-pouch upon the 

"What part of the table?" 

" It lay in the middle. It was of coarse 
seal-skin — the straight -haired skin, with a 
leather thong to bind it. Inside was * P. C 
on the flap. There was half an ounce of 
strong ship's tobacco in it." 

" Excellent ! What more ? " 

Stanley Hopkins drew from his pocket a 
drab-covered note-book. The outside was 
rough and worn, the leaves discoloured. On 
the first page were written the initials 
"J. H. N." and the date "1883." Holmes 
laid it on the table and examined it in his 
minute way, while Hopkins and I gazed over 
each shoulder. On the second page were 
the printed letters " C. P. R.," and then came 
several sheets of numbers. Another heading 
was Argentine, another Costa Rica, and 
another San Paulo, each with pages of signs 
and figures after it. 

" What do you make of these ? " asked 

"They appear to be lists of Stock Ex- 
change securities. I thought that i J. H. N. ' 
were the initials of a broker, and that 
* C. P. R. ' may have been his client." 

"Try Canadian Pacific Railway," said 

Stanley Hopkins swore between his teeth 
and struck his thigh with his clenched hand. 

" What a fool I have been ! " he cried. 
" Of course, % it is as you say. Then 
i J. H. N. ' are the only initials we have to 
solve. I have already examined the old 
Stock Exchange lists, and I can find no one 

in ,88 ¥ ther w&fc&r "* the 



outside brokers whose initials correspond 
with these. Yet I feel that the clue is the 
most important one that I hold. You will 
admit, Mr* Holmes, that there is a possibility 
that these initials are those of the second 
person who was present — in other words, of 
the murderer. I would also urge that the 

" Yes, sir, it is a blood-stain* I told you 
that I picked the book off the floor/* 

" Was the blood-stain above or below ? 3} 

" On the side next the boards." 

il Which proves of course, that the book 
was dropped after the crime was committed." 

" Exact ly, Mr. Holmes* I appreciated 

introduction into the case of a 
document relating to large masses 
of valuable securities gives us for 
the first time some indication of 
a motive for the crime/' 

Sherlock Holmes's face showed 
that he was thoroughly taken 
aback by this new development 

" I must admit both your 
points," said he. " I confess that this note- 
book, which did not appear at the inquest, 
modifies any views which I may have formed, 
I had come to a theory of the crime m 
which I can find no place for this. Have 
you endeavoured to trace any of the securi- 
ties here mentioned ? " 

"Inquiries are now being made at the 
offices, but I fear that the complete register 
of the stockholders of these South American 
concerns is in South America, and that some 
weeks must elapse before we can trace the 
shares." • 

Holmes had been examining the cover of 
the note-book with his magnifying lens. 

" Surelv there is some discoloration here," 
said he. 


Ilia MtM'TC WAV* 

that point, and I conjectured that it was 
dropped by the murderer in his hurried 
flight. It lay near the door." 

"I suppose that none of these securities 
have been found among the property of the 
dead man ? " 

" No* si^" 

" Have you any reason to suspect robbery ?" 

" No, sir. Nothing seemed to have been 

** Dear me, it is certainly a very interesting 
case, Then there was a knife, was there 

** A sheath-knife } still in its sheath. It lay 
at the feet of the dead man. Mrs, Carey 
has identified it a* being her husband's 




Holmes was lost in thought for some time. 

" Well," said he, at last, " I suppose I shall 
have to come out and have a look at it." 

Stanley Hopkins gave a cry of joy. 

" Thank you, sir. That will indeed be a 
weight off my miry!/ 1 

Holmes shook his finger at the inspector- 

M It would have been an easier task a week 
ago/* said he, u But even now my visit may 
not be entirely fruitless. Watson, if you can 
spare the time I should be very glad of your 
company. If you will call a four-wheeler^ 
Hopkins, we shall be ready to start for Forest 
Row in a quarter of an hour." 

Alighting at the small wayside station, we 
drove for some miles through the remains of 
widespread woods, which were once part of 
that great forest which for so long held 
the Saxon invaders at 
bay — the impenetrable 
"weald," for sixty 
years the bulwark of 
Britain. Vast sec- 
tions of it have been 
cleared, for this is the 
seat of the first iron- 
works of the country, 
and the trees have 
been felled to smelt 
the ore. Now the 
richer fields of the 
North have absorbed 
the trade, and nothing 
save these ravaged 
groves and great scars 
in the earth show the 
work of the past Here 
in a clearing upon the 
green slope of a hill 
stood a long, low stone 
house, approached by 
a curving drive run- 
ning through the 
fields. Nearer the 
road, and surrounded 
on three sides by 
bushes, was a small 
outhouse, one window 
and the door facing in 
our direction. It was 
the scene of the 
murder ! 

Stanley Hopkins 
led us first to the 
house, where he intro- 
duced us to a hag- 
gard, grey-haired 
woman, the widow of 

the murdered man, whose gaunt and deep- 
lined face, with the furtive look of terror in 
the depths of her red-rimmed eyes, told of the 
years of hardship and ill-usage which she had 
endured. With her was her daughter, a pale, 
fair-haired girl, whose eyes blazed defiantly at 
us as she told us that she was glad that her 
father was dead, and that she blessed the 
hand which had struck him down* It was a 
terrible household that Black Peter Carey had 
made for himself, and it was with a sense of 
relief that we found ourselves in the sunlight 
again and making our way along a path 
which had been worn across the fields by the 
feet of the dead man. 

The outhouse was the simplest of dwell- 
ings, wooden -walled, shingle-roofed, one 
window beside the door and one on the 
farther side. Stanley Hopkins drew the 

_ riqinal from 






key from his pocket, and had stooped to the 
lock, when he paused with a look of atten- 
tion and surprise upon his face. 

" Someone has been tampering with it," 
he said. 

There could be no doubt of the fact. The 
woodwork was cut and the scratches showed 
white through the paint, as if they had been 
that instant done. Holmes had been 
examining the window. 

"Someone has tried to force this also. 
Whoever it was has failed to make his way 
in. He must have been a very poor 

"This is a most extraordinary thing," said 
the inspector ; " I could swear that these 
marks were not here yesterday evening " 

" Some curious person from the village, 
perhaps," I suggested. 

" Very unlikely. Few of them would dare 
to set foot in the grounds, far less try to force 
their way into the cabin. What do you 
think of it, Mr. Holmes ? " 

" I think that fortune is very kind to us." 

" You mean that the person will come 
again ?" 

" It is very probable. He came expecting 
to find the door open. He tried to get in 
with the! blade of a very small penknife. He 
could not manage it. What would he do ?" 

" Come again next night with a more use- 
ful tool." 

"So I should say. It will be our fault 'if 
we are not there to receive him. Meanwhile, 
let me see the inside of the cabin." 

The traces of the tragedy had been re- 
moved, but the furniture within the little 
room still stood as it had been on the night 
of the crime. For two hours, with most in- 
tense concentration, Holmes examined every 
object in turn, but his face showed that his 
quest was not a successful one. Once only 
he paused in his patient investigation. 

" Have you taken anything off this shelf, 

" No ; I have moved nothing." 

" Something has been taken. There is less 
dust in this corner of the shelf than else- 
where. It may have been a book lying on 
its side. It may have been a box. Well, 
well, I can do nothing more. Let us walk in 
these beautiful woods, Watson, and give a 
few hours to the birds and the flowers. We 
shall meet you here later, Hopkins, and see 
if we can come to closer quarters with the 
gentleman who has paid this visit in the 

It was past eleven o'clock when we formed 
our little ambuscade. Hopkins was for leaving 

vol. xxvii.-*2. F 

the door of the hut open, but Holmes was of 
opinion that this would rouse the suspicions 
of the stranger. The lock was a perfectly 
simple one, and only a strong blade was 
needed to push it back. Holmes also 
suggested that we should wait, not inside the 
hut, but outside it among the bushes which 
grew round the farther window. In this way 
we should be able to watch our man if he 
struck a light, and see what his object was 
in this stealthy nocturnal visit. 

It was a long and melancholy vigil, and 
yet brought with it something of the thrill 
which the hunter feels when he lies beside 
the water pool and waits for the coming of 
the thirsty beast of prey. What savage 
creature was it which might steal upon us 
out of the darkness? Was it a fierce tiger 
of crime, which could only be taken fighting 
hard with flashing fang and claw, or would it 
prove to be some skulking jackal, dangerous 
only to the weak and unguarded ? 

In absolute silence we crouched amongst 
the bushes, waiting for whatever might come. 
At first the steps of a few belated villagers, 
or the sound of voices from the village, 
lightened our vigil; but one by one these 
interruptions died away and an absolute still- 
ness fell upon us, save for the chimes of the 
distant church, which told us of the progress 
of the night, and for the rustle and whisper 
of a fine rain falling amid the foliage which 
roofed us in. 

Half-past two had chimed, and it was the 
darkest hour which precedes the dawn, when 
we all started as a low but sharp click came 
from the direction of the gate. Someone 
had entered the drive. Again there was a 
long silence, and I had begun to fear that it 
was a false alarm, when a stealthy step was 
heard upon the other side of the hut, and a 
moment later a metallic scraping and clink- 
ing. The man was trying to force the lock ! 
This time his skill was greater or his tool 
was better, for there was a sudden snap and 
the creak of the hinges. Then a match was 
struck, and next instant the steady light 
from a candle filled the interior of the hut. 
Through the gauze curtain our eyes were all 
riveted upon the scene within. 

The nocturnal visitor was a young man, 
frail and thin, with a black moustache which 
intensified the deadly pallor of his face. 
He could not have been much above 
twenty years of age. I have never seen any 
human being who appeared to be in such 
a pitiable fright, for his teeth were visibly 
chattering and he was shaking in every limb. 
He was dressed lilce; a gentleman, in Norfolk 




jacket and knickerbockers, with a cloth cap 
upon his head. We watched him staring 
round with frightened eyes. Then he laid 
the candle-end upon the table and dis- 
appeared from our view into one of the 
corners. He returned with a large book, 
one of the log-books which formed a line 
upon the shelves. Leaning on the table he 
rapidly turned over the leaves of this volume 
until he came 
to the entry 
which he sought. 
Then, with an 
angry gesture of 
his clenched 
hand, he closed 
the book, re- 
placed it in the 
corner, and put 
out the light. He 
had hardly 
turned to leave 
the hut when 
Hopkins's hand 
was on the fel- 
low's co liar , and 

I heard his loud 
gasp of terror as 
he understood 
that he was 
taken. The 
candle was re-lit, 
and there was 
our wretched 
captive shivering 
and cow T ering in 
the grasp of the 
detective. He 
sank down upon 
the sea - chest, 
and looked 
helplessly from 
one of us to the 

11 Now, my 
fine fellow/' said Stanley Hopkins, " who are 
you, and what do you want here ? " 

The man pulled himself together and faced 
us with an effort at self-composure. 

u You are detectives, I suppose ? " said he. 

II You imagine I am connected with the death 
of Captain Peter Carey. I assure you that I 
am innocent" 

"We'll see about that," said Hopkins. 
" First of all, what is your name ? " 

" It is John Hopley Neligan." 

I saw Holmes and Hopkins exchange a 
quick glance* 

u What are you doing here ? " 

Digitized by Google 

" Can I speak confidentially?" 
" No, certainly not.*' 
"Why should I tell you?" 
"If you have no answer it may go badly 
with you at the trial" 
The young man winced. 
"Well, I will tell you," he said. "Why 
should I not? And yet I hate to think of 
this old scandal gaining a new lease of life. 

Did you ever 
hear of Dawson 
and Neligan ? *' 

I could see 
from Hopkins's 
face that he 
never had ; but 
Holmes was 
keenly inter- 

" You mean 
the West-coun 
try bankers," 
said he, "They 
failed for a mil- 
lion, ruined half 
the county fami- 
lies of Cornwall, 
and Neligan dis- 

Neligan was my 

At last we 
were getting 
something posi- 
tive, and yet it 
seemed a long 
gap between an 
banker and Cap- 
tain Peter Carey 
pinned against 
the wall with 
one of his own 
harpoons. We 
all listened intently to the young man's 

" It was my father who was really con- 
cerned. Dawson had retired, I was only 
ten years of age at the time, but I was old 
enough to feel the shame and horror of it alL 
It has always been said that my father stole 
all the securities and fled. It is not true. 
It was his belief that if he were given time in 
which to realize them all would be well and 
every creditor paid in full. He started in 
his little yacht for Norway just before the 
warrant was issued for his arrest, I can 
remember that last night when he bade fare- 





well to my mother. He left us a list of the 
securities he was taking, and he swore that 
he would come back with his honour cleared, 
and that none who had trusted him would 
suffer. Well, no word was ever heard from 
him again. Both the yacht and he vanished 
utterly. We believed, my mother and I, 
that he and it, with the securities that he 
had taken with him, were at the bottom of 
the sea. We had a faithful friend, however, 
who is a business man, and it was he who 
discovered some time ago that some of the 
securities which my father had with him 
have reappeared on the London market. 
You can imagine our amazement. I spent 
months in trying to trace them, and at last, 
after many doublings and difficulties, I dis- 
covered that the original seller had been 
Captain Peter Carey, the owner of this hut. 

" Naturally, I made some inquiries about 
the man. I found that he had been in 
command of a whaler which was due to 
return from the Arctic seas at the very time 
when my father was crossing to Norway. 
The autumn of that year was a stormy 
one, and there was a long succession of 
southerly gales. My father's yacht may 
well have been blown to the north, and 
there met by Captain Peter Carey's ship. 
If that were so, what, had become of my 
father ? In any case, if I could prove from 
Peter Carey's evidence how these securities 
came on the market it would $be a proof that 
my father had not sold them, and that he had 
no view to personal profit when he took theA. 

" I came down to Sussex with the inten- 
tion of seeing the captain, but it was at this 
moment that his terrible death occurred. I 
read at the inquest a description of his cabin, 
in which it stated that the old log-books of 
his vessel were preserved in it. It struck me 
that if I could see what occurred in the 
month of August, 1883, on board the Sea 
Unicorn, I might settle the mystery of my 
father's fate. I . tried last night to get at 
these log-books, but was unable to open the 
door. To-night I tried again, and succeeded ; 
but I find that the pages which deal with that 
month have been torn from the book. It 
was at that moment I found myself a 
prisoner in your hands." 

" Is that all ? " asked Hopkins. 

" Yes, that is all." His eyes shifted as he 
said it. 

" You have nothing else to tell us ? " 

He hesitated. 

" No ; there is nothing." 

"You have not been here before last 

Digitized by L^OOgle 

" No." 

"Then how do you account for thatl" 
cried Hopkins, as he held up the damning note- 
book, with the initials of our prisoner on the 
first leaf and the blood-stain on the cover. 

The wretched man collapsed. He sank 
his face in his hands and trembled all over. 

" Where did you get it ? " he groaned. " I 
did not know. I thought I had lost it at the 

" That is enough," said Hopkins, sternly. 
"Whatever else you have to say you must 
say in court. You will walk down with me 
now to the police-station. Well, Mr. Holmes, 
I am very much obliged to you and to your 
friend for coming down to help me. As it 
turns out your presence was unnecessary, and 
I would have brought the case to this suc- 
cessful issue without you ; but none the less 
I am very grateful. Rooms have been 
reserved for you at the Brambletye Hotel, so 
we can all walk down to the village together." 

" Well, Watson, what do you think of it ? " 
asked Holmes, as we travelled back next 

" I can see that you are not satisfied." 

" Oh, yes, my dear Watson, I am perfectly 
satisfied. At the same time Stanley Hop- 
kins's methods do not commend themselves 
to me. I am disappointed in Stanley Hopkins. 
I had hoped for better things from him. 
One should always look for a possible alter- 
native and provide against it. It is the first 
rule of criminal investigation." 

" What, then, is the alternative? " 

"The line of investigation which I have 
myself been pursuing. It may give us 
nothing. I cannot tell. But at least I shall 
follow it to the end." 

Several letters were waiting for Holmes at 
Baker Street. He snatched one of them up, 
opened it, and burst out into a triumphant 
chuckle of laughter. 

" Excellent, Watson. The alternative 
develops. Have you telegraph forms ? 
Just write a couple of messages for me: 
'Sumner, Shipping Agent, Ratcliff High- 
way. Send three men on, to arrive ten to- 
morrow morning. — Basil.' That's my name 
in those parts. The other is : ' Inspector 
Stanley Hopkins, 46, Lord Street, Brixton. 
t Come breakfast to-morrow at nine-thirty. 
Important. Wire if unable to come. — Sher- 
lock Holmes.' There, Watson, this infernal 
case has haunted me for ten days. I hereby 
banish it completely from my presence. 
To-morrow I trust that we shall hear the last 
of it for ever." 

Sharp at the hour named Inspector Stanley 

_- 1 l •_! 1 1 l >.l l \ \s 




Hopkins appeared, and we sat down together 
to the excellent breakfast which Mrs. Hudson 
had prepared. The young detective was in 
high spirits at his success. 

" You really think that your solution must 
be correct ? " asked Holmes. 

" I could not imagine a more complete 

" It did not seem to me conclusive." 

"You astonish me, Mr. Holmes. What 
more could one ask for ? " 

" Does your explanation cover every 
point ? " 

" Undoubtedly. I find that young Neligan 
arrived at the Brambletye Hotel on the very 
day of the crime. He came on the pretence 
of playing golf. His room was on the ground- 
floor, and he could get out when he liked. 
That very night he went down to Woodman's 
Lee, saw Peter Carey at the hut, quarrelled 
with him, and killed him with the harpoon. 
Then, horrified by what he had done, he fled 
out of the hut, dropping the note-book which 
he had brought with him in order to question 
Peter Carey about these different securities. 
You may have observed that some of them 
were marked with ticks, and the others — the 
great majority — were not Those which are 
ticked have been traced on the London 
market ; but the others presumably were still 
in the possession of Carey, and young Neligan, 
according to his own account, was anxious 
to recover them in order to do the right 
thing by his father's creditors. After 
his flight he did not dare to approach the 
hut again for some time ; but at last he 
forced himself to do so in order to obtain 
the information which he needed. Surely 
that is all simple and obvious ? " 

Holmes smiled and shook his head. 

" It seems to me to have only one draw- 
back, Hopkins, and that is that it is intrin- 
sically impossible. Have you tried to drive 
a harpoon through a body ? No ? Tut, tut, 
my dear sir, you must really pay attention to 
these details. My friend Watson could tell 
you that I spent a whole morning in that 
exercise. It is no easy matter, and requires 
a strong and practised arm. But this blow 
was delivered with such violence that the 
head of the weapon sank deep into the wall. 
Do you imagine that this anaemic youth was 
capable of so frightful an assault? Is he 
the man who hobnobbed in rum and water 
with Black Peter in the dead of the night ? 
Was it his profile that was seen on the blind 
two nights before ? No, no, Hopkins ; it is 
another and a more formidable person for 
whom we must seek." 

by L^OOgle 

The detective's face had grown longer and 
longer during Holmes's speech. His hopes 
and his ambitions were all crumbling about 
him. But he would not abandon his position 
without a struggle. 

" You can't deny that Neligan was present 
that night, Mr. Holmes. The book will 
prove that. I fancy that I have evidence 
enough to satisfy a jury, even if you are able 
to pick a hole in it. Besides, Mr. Holmes, I 
have laid my hand upon my man. As to this 
terrible person of yours, where is he ? " 

"I rather fancy that he is on the stair," 
said Holmes, serenely. " I think, Watson, 
that you would do well to put that revolver 
where you can reach it." He rose, and laid 
a written paper upon a side-table. " Now 
we are ready," said he. 

There had been some talking in gruff voices 
outside, and now Mrs. Hudson opened the 
door to say that there were three men inquir- 
ing for Captain Basil. 

" Show them in one by one," said Holmes. 

The first who entered was a little ribston- 
pippin of a man, with ruddy cheeks and fluffy 
white side- whiskers. Holmes had drawn a 
letter from his pocket. 

" What name ? " he asked. 

" James Lancaster." 

"I am sorry, Lancaster, but the berth is 
full. Here is half a sovereign for your 
trouble. Just step into this room and wait 
there for a few minutes.' 

The second man was a long, dried-up 
creature, with lank hair and sallow cheeks. 
His name was Hugh Pattins. He also 
received his dismissal, his half-sovereign, and 
the order to wait. 

The third applicant was a man of remark- 
able appearance. A fierce, bull-dog face was 
framed in a tangle of hair and beard, and 
two bold dark eyes gleamed behind the 
cover of thick, tufted, overhung eyebrows. 
He saluted and stood sailor- fashion, turning 
his cap round in his hands. 

" Your name ? " asked Holmes. 

" Patrick Cairns." 

" Harpooner ? " 

" Yes, sir. Twenty-six voyages." 

" Dundee, I suppose ? " 

"Yes, sir." 

"And ready to start with an exploring 

"Yes, sir." 

"What wages?" 

" Eight pounds a month." 

" Could you start at once ? " 

" As soon as I get my kit." 

" Have you your papers ? " 




" Yes, sir" He took a sheaf of worn and 
greasy forms from his pocket. Holmes 
glanced over them and returned them, 

"You are just the man I want," said he. 
" Here's the agreement on the side- table. If 
you sign it the whole matter will be settled." 

SUA [.I. \ SIGN 

The seaman lurched across the room and 
took up the pen. 

"Shall I sign here?" he asked, stooping 
over the table* 

Holmes leaned over his shoulder and 
passed both hands over his neck* 

"This will do," said he. 

I heard a click of steel and a bellow like 
an enraged bull. The next instant Holmes 

and the seaman were rolling on the ground 
together. He was a man of such gigantic 
strength that, even with the handcuffs which 
Holmes had so deftly fastened upon his 
wrists, he would have very quickly over- 
powered my friend had Hopkins * and I 
not rushed to his rescue. 
Only when I pressed the cold 
muzzle of the revolver to his 
lemple did he at last understand 
that resistance was vain, We 
lashed his ankles with cord 
and rose breathless from the 

" I must really apologize, 
Hopkins," said Sherlock 
Holmes; "I fear that the 
scrambled eggs are cold. 
However, you will enjoy the 
rest of your breakfast 
all the better, will you 
not, for the thought 
that you have brought 
your case to a trium- 
phant conclusion/' 

Stanley Hopkins 
was speechless with 

" I don't know what 
to say, Mr. Holmes/' 
he blurted out at last, 
with a very red face. 
tf It seems to me that 
I have been making a 
fool of myself from the 
beginning. I under- 
stand now, what I 
should never have for 
gotten, that I am the 
pupil and you are the 
master. Even now I 
see what you have 
done, but I don't 
know how you did it, 
or what it signifies," 

11 Well, well," said Holmes, good* 
humouredly. "We all learn by ex- 
perience, and your lesson this time is that you 
should never lose sight of the alternative. 
You were so absorbed in young Neligan that 
you could not spare a thought to Patrick 
Cairns, the true murderer of Peter Carey, 1 ' 

The hoarse voice of the seaman broke in 
on our conversation. 

" See here, mister," said he, " I make no 
complaint of being man-handled in this 
fashion, but I would have you call things by 
their right names. You say I murdered 
Peter Car^giri^frlittfc'Zfo/ Peter Carey, and 




there's all the difference. Maybe you don't 
believe what I say. Maybe you think I am 
just slinging you a yarn," 

11 Not at all," said Holmes. ■ l Let us hear 
what you have to say." 

" It's soon told, and, by the Lord, every 
word of it is tfuth. I knew Black Peter, and 
when he pulled out his knife I whipped a 
harpoon through him sharp, for I knew that 
it was him or me. That's how he died. You 
can call it murder. Anyhow, Pd as soon die 
with a rope round my neck as with Black 
Peter's knife in my heart*" 

" How came you there ? " asked Holmes. 

"I'll tell it you from the beginning* Just 
sit me up a little so as I can speak easy. It 
was in '83 that it happened— Augus* of that 
year. Peter Carey was master of the Sea 
Unkorn, and I was spare harpooner. We 
were coming out of the ice-pack on our way 
home, with head winds and a week's southerly 
gale, when we picked up a little craft that had 
been blown north. There was one man on 
her — a landsman. The crew 
had thought she would founder, 
and had made for the Nor- 
wegian coast in the dinghy. I 
guess they were all drowned. 
Well, we took him on board, 
this man, and he and the skip- 
per had some long talks in the 
cabin. All the baggage we took 
off with him was one tin box. 
So far as I know, the man's 
name was never mentioned, 
and on the second night he 
disappeared as if he had never 
been. It was given out that 
he had either thrown himself 
overboard or fallen overboard 
in the heavy weather that we 
were having. Only one man 
knew what had happened to 
him, and that was me, for with 
my own eyes I saw the skipper 
tip up his heels and put him 
over the rail in the middle 
watch of a dark night, two days 
before we sighted the Shetland 

" Well, I kept my knowledge 
to myself and waited to see 
what would come of it. When 
we got back to Scotland it was 
easily hushed up, and nobody 
asked any questions. A stranger 
died by an accident, and it was 
nobody's business to inquire. 
Shortly after Peter Carey gave 

up the sea, and it was long years before I 
could find where he was. I guessed that he 
had done the deed for the sake of what was 
in that tin bos, and that he could afford now 
to pay me well for keeping my mouth shut. 

"I found out where he was through a 
sailor man that had met him in London, and 
down I went to squeeze him. The first 
night he was reasonable enough, and was 
ready to give me what would make me free 
of the sea for life. We were to fix it all two 
nights later. When I came I found him 
three parts drunk and in a vile temper. We 
sat down and we drank and we yarned about 
old times, but the more he drank the less 1 
liked the look on his face. I spotted that 
harpoon upon the wall, and I thought I 
might need it before I was through. Then 
at last he broke out at me, spitting and 
cursing, with murder in his eyes and a great 
clasp-knife in his hand. He had not time to 
get it from the sheath before I had the har- 
poon through him. Heavens ! what a yell 

by LiOOgLC 

Original from 




he gave ; and his face gets between me and 
my sleep ! I stood there, with his blood 
splashing round me, and I waited for a bit ; 
but all was quiet, so I took heart once more. 
I looked round, and there was the tin box on 
a shelf. I had as much right to it as Peter 
Carey, anyhow, so I took it with me and left 
the hut. Like a fool I left my baccy-pouch 
upon the table. 

" Now 111 tell you the queerest part of the 
whole story. I had hardly got outside the 
hut when I heard someone coming, and I 
hid among the bushes. A man came slinking 
along, went into the hut, gave a cry as if he 
had seen a ghost, and legged it as hard as 
he could run until he was out of sight. Who 
he was or what he wanted is more than I 
can tell. For my part, I walked ten miles, 
got a train at Tunbridge Wells, and so 
reached London, and no one the wiser. 

" Well, when I came to examine the box 
I found there was no money in it, and 
nothing but papers that I would not dare 
to sell. I had lost my hold on Black Peter, 
and was stranded in London without a 
shilling. There was only my trade left. I 
saw these advertisements about harpooners 
and high wages, so I went to the shipping 
agents, and they sent me here. That's all I 
know, and I say again that if I killed Black 
Peter the law should give me thanks, for I 
saved them the price of a hempen rope." 

"A very clear statement," said Holmes, 
rising and lighting his pipe. " I think, 
Hopkins, that you should lose no time in 
conveying your prisoner to a place of safety. 
This room is not well adapted for a cell, and 
Mr. Patrick Cairns occupies too large a 
proportion of our carpet." 

"Mr. Holmes," said Hopkins, "I do not 
know how to express my gratitude. Even 
now I do not understand how you attained 
this result" 

"Simply by having the good fortune to 
get the right clue from the beginning. It 
is very possible that if I had known about 
this note-book it might have led away my 

thoughts, as it did yours. But all I heard 
pointed in the one direction. The amazing 
strength, the skill in the use of the harpoon, 
the rum and water, the seal-skin tobacco- 
pouch, with the coarse tobacco — all these 
pointed to a seaman, and one who had been 
a whaler. I was convinced that the initials 
'P. C. ' upon the pouch were a coincidence, 
and not those of Peter Carey, since he seldom 
smoked^ and no pipe was found in his cabin. 
You remember that I asked whether whisky 
and brandy were in the cabin. You said 
they were. How many landsmen are there 
who would drink rum when they could get 
these other spirits ?. Yes, I was certain it was 
a seaman." 

" And how did you find him ? " 

" My dear sir, the problem had become a 
very simple one. If it were a seaman, it 
could only be a seaman who had been with 
him on the Sea Unicorn. So far as I could 
learn he had sailed in no other ship. I spent 
three days in wiring to Dundee, and at the 
end of that time I had ascertained the names 
of the crew of the Sea Unicorn in 1883. 
When I found Patrick Cairns among the 
harpooners my research was nearing its end. 
I argued that the man was probably in 
London, and that he would desire to leave 
the country for a time. I therefore spent 
some days in the East-end, devised an 
Arctic expedition, put forward tempting 
terms for harpooners who would serve under 
Captain Basil — and behold the result ! " 

"Wonderful!" cried Hopkins. "Won- 
derful ! " 

"You must obtain the release of young 
Neligan as soon as possible," said Holmes. 
" I confess that I think you owe him some 
apology. The tin box must be returned 
to him, but, of course, the securities which 
Peter Carey has sold are lost for ever. 
There's the cab, Hopkins, and you can 
remove your man. If you want me for the 
trial, my address and that of Watson will 
be somewhere in Norway — I'll send par- 
ticulars later." 

by Google 

Original from 

Slaves of the Lamp." 

By F. D. Godwyn. 

HAT is an electrical engineer ? 
The " man in the street " as a 
rule has but a very hazy idea ; 
he usually connects him with 
a youth in dirty blue over- 
alls who calls occasionally to 
see to the lights or bells. But away 
in the poorest quarter of almost every 
town or parish there is a large building 
with a tall chimney, and from the former, 
day and night, emanate strange whirring and 
thudding noises ; perhaps also through an 
occasionally open door a glimpse is caught 
of shining metal and queer looking machinery, 
sometimes giving off vicious looking little 
blue sparks that recall one's early experiments 
with a Leyden jar. This is locally known 
as the electric light works, and it is with 
the experiences of the men whose lives 
are passed in such places, and who form 
a considerable portion of the true genus 
electrical engineer, that the following 
incidents deal, serving to show that, 
although little is heard of it in the outside 
world, the electrical engineer who takes up 
this branch of his profession exposes himself 
to a variety of deaths and maimings that can 
scarcely be surpassed. 

For instance, on September 19th, 1899, 
at the electricity works of the Manchester 
Corporation, one of the largest in the 
kingdom, an accident took place that will 
not be easily forgotten by those who were 
fortunate or unfortunate enough, according to 
temperament, to witness it. 

The engine-room at that time contained 

fourteen engines, each of four hundred 
horse-power, some of which * drove their 
dynamos by means of leather belts in the 
old-fashioned way. About six o'clock in the 
evening, when the station was working 
almost at its maximum output, one of the 
belts broke half-way across. Before the 
engine could be stopped the broken portion 
of the belt, flapping round like a huge flail, 
hit the governor, completely wrecking it and 
allowing the steam to enter the engine in tre- 
mendous quantities. 

The result of this was that the engine 
attained a terrific speed, which so increased 
the centrifugal force of its fly-wheel that the 
latter literally burst, and in a second fragments 
weighing several hundredweight w^re hurtling 
through the air, dealing destruction right and 
left. One of these pieces hit the fly-wheel 
of the adjacent running engine, and, as ill- 
luck would have it, burst that too, and still 
more huge masses started on their destruc- 
tive path. 

One would think that mischance could 
hardly go farther, and that the demons of 
mischief that are responsible for this sort 
of thing would have become satiated by their 
success ; but this was evidently not the case, 
as some of the fragments struck the steam 
and water pipes that are arranged round the 
engine-room, bursting them and affording the 
unfortunate men on duty the chance of being 
scalded to death by steam at about three 
hundred and fifty degrees Fahrenheit, in 
addition to that of being crushed by the 
flying pieces Strange to say, only two 





men were injured, and that not seriously. 
An engine-driver named Edward Tomlinson 
was knocked down and severely bruised, and 
one or his mates, Chadwick, injured about 
the arms, 

A scene like this is almost beyond the 
power of words to describe. Imagine a 
large engine-room of this description, 
brightly lit and echoing with the mono- 
tonous — but to the engineer peaceful— noise 
of well-kept engines, flapping belts, and 
whirring dynamos. Suddenly there is a 
grating sound, followed by a crash ; down 
go the lamps until they give about as much 
light as a red-hot hairpin ; hoarse cries 
and the voice of the engineer as he gives his 
orders are mingled with the roar of escaping 
steam and the crash of fa] ling metal on the 
walls and floor ; running figures are dimly 
discerned, stopping here to close a valve and 
there to open a switch. And in this dimly- 
lighted inferno the engineer does his duty, 
risking deaths that are far worse than those 
the soldier has to face, in cold blood and 
without a moment's notice. 

The man who is reading his paper in the 
club looks up with a muttered adjuration on 
the electric light as it sinks to a dull red 
glow, little thinking that perhaps at that 

identical moment men are risking most 
horrible deaths, with no hope of honour or 
reward, but because it is their duty and the 
light must be kept in at tf^ycost. Electricity, 
fortunately, played no part in this accident 
If it had, the perils of fire would doubtless 
have been added to those of mangling and 

The man who by mistake started to saw 
in half a main cable carrying current at a 
pressure of some two thousand volts is not 
likely to forget his experience, and such a 
case came under the winter's personal obser- 
vation some months back. 

One of the many main cables leading from 
a large generating station to various distribut- 
ing points in the streets had to be repaired, 
and to do this it was necessary to cut it in 
what is termed the " cable pit " in the works, 
where all the separate mains are laid side by 
side, looking exactly alike. The current w *s 3 
of course, shot off the cable to be operated 
upon, and if a mistake had not been made 
nothing would have happened. Unfortunately, 
however, the cables in the pit had been 
wrongly numbered, and the consequence was, 
instead of cutting into the "dead " cable, the 
man started upon one that was very much 

" aIive >" Original from 

* 5 8 


Despite its serpentine appearance, nothing 
looks more innocent than an electric cable ; 
just a long, round, black thing, lying peace- 
fully in a trench without a sign to show 
whether it is carrying current or not, But, 
like the serpent, nothing is so dangerous to 
tamper with, and no sooner had the saw of 
the workman pierced the out a? coverings of 
lead and paper insulation, and its blade 
touched the hidden copper charged to the 
pressure of two thousand 
volts, than there was a blind- 
ing, roaring flash, and the 
man was hurled backward, 
still holding in his hand the 
remains of the 
fused saw. 

Meanwhile, in 
the engine-room 
and blue fire 
reigned su- 
preme. So great 
was the rush of 
current that the 
safety - fuse of- 
the cable failed 
entirely, and the 
swi t c h board, 
where all surh 
apparatus is 
situated, was in 
one part bathed 
in a vivid flame 
that roared in 
to the groans of 
the overloaded 

Luckily in this case very little was required 
to put things straight, and the opening of a 
switch in somewhat unpleasant proximity to 
the flames speedily put an end to the trouble 
in the engine-room. The man, fortunately, 
beyond a bruise or two was not hurt ; he 
received no shock owing to having taken the 
precaution of wearing a rubber glove, and 
his fall backward was only occasioned by a 
very natural desire to place a good distance 
bet wet m the cable and himself in the shortest 
possible time. 

In this case there was literally less than 
a sixteenth of an inch between the man and 
death, that being the thickness of the rubber 
glove, but for which, owing to his position 
when using the saw> the current at a pressure 
of two thousand volts would have passed 
through his body ; and in connection with 
this it should be remembered that from one 

Digitized by t^OOQ lC 

thousand five hundred to one thousand seven 
hundred volts is all that is used to electrocute 
criminals in America, It is supposed to 
be a painless death, but from all accounts, if 
the victim does survive, the after-results are 
anything but agreeable. 

A friend of the writer relates a very un- 
pleasant experience that occurred to him 
some years ago at the high-pressure elec- 
tricity works of the Coventry Corporation 

one Sunday 
morning, at the 
unearthly hour 
of 4 a.m. In his 
capacity as what 
is termed an 
engineer - in ■ 
charge he had 
occasion to 
make some 
alteration in the 
connections to 
the main switch- 
board, where all 
the current is 
measured and 
highly danger- 
ous work that is 
usually only en- 
trusted to one 
of the staff — 
that is to say, 
not an ordinary 
working man, 

As a rule, 
when this kind 
of work has to 
be undertaken 
the current is shut off, but here it was found 
inexpedient to do so, and consequently the 
risk of a two thousand-volt shock had to be 
run. With his sleeves rolled up, and armed 
with a rubber mat on which to stand and a 
spanner to slacken the nuts, the narrator 
proceeded alone behind the switchboard, an 
out-of-the-way place, where he was shut off 
from the observation of the rest of the staff 
on duty. Naturally, he is not able to give 
minute details of what happened ; he remem- 
bers standing on the mat and working for a 
few minutes with the spanner held in his bare 
hand. Then suddenly there was a flash, a 
feeling as of a sledge-hammer blow on the 
back of his head, and he knew no more. His 
bare arm had touched another portion of the 
switchboard and the high -pressure current 
had passed right through it, literally burning 
its way into the flesh, and leaving scars that 





are plainly obvious at the present day* He 
ascertained afterwards from one of the instru- 
ments that he lay unconscious for some 
ten minutes, when coming to his senses he 
crawled in a half dazed way into the engine 
room, where ho found the machinery running 
merrily, but the supply cut off owing to part 
of the apparatus having fused. 

The instinct of duty is, indeed, a wonder 
ful thing, and is well exemplified here, for, 
although having just received a shock to his 
system it is given to few men to get over, he 
almost unconsciously replaced the fused i>art 
and switched on the supply, collapsing as he 
finished it, and having later on to he carried 
home, where for a fortnight he lay subject to 
violent sickness, great bodily pain owing to 
muscular contraction, frequent attacks of 
giddiness, and 
very little sleep. 

'["he American 
continent seems 
to be inextricably 
mixed up with 
everything that 
is big, and details 
of a most extra- 
ordinary accident 
that occurred in 
Brazil have re- 
cently been pub- 
lished in the 
technical Press 
under the very 
apt title of "The 
Greatest Electric 
Shock on Re- 
cord." It took 
place on August 
23rd of last year 
at the works of 
the Sao Paulo 
Tramway Light 
and Power Com- 
pany, Brazil, the 
sufferers this 
time being an 
Italian workman 
named Lazzari, 
a strongly- built 
man T and an 
American engi- 
neer, Mr. Be van, 
son of the power-station superintendent. In 
this case the pressure was no less than twenty- 
four thousand volts — that is to say, about 
fifteen times as much as is used for electrocu- 
tion— -and the work was again the dangerous 
operation of altering switchboard connections. 

Digitized by G< 


An eye- witness relates that Lazzari, wishing 
to speak to Mr. Sevan as he passed him, 
caught hold of his wrist and turned round, 
unthinkingly bringing his head close to a 
bare copper bar charged at the above terrible 
pressure, at the same time standing with his 
foot touching an iron bolt sunk in the floor. 

Now, electricity at twenty- four thousand 
volts will pierce through the air quite a dis- 
tance, and, the workman having approached 
rather too close, the current immediately 
sparked on to his shoulder, passed through 
his body, and emerged at his foot on to the 
iron bolt, part of it also finding its way to 
the earth through the wrist and lx>dy of 
Bevan* Muscular paralysis always accom- 
panies severe electric shock, and both men 
being incapable of movement must shortly 

have succumbed 
to the fearful 
strain on their 

But now a 
thing happened 
which, as an 
example of bra- 
very, will hardly 
find its parallel 
in the annals of 
t he Victoria 
Cross, Mr. 
Bevan senior, 
who chanced to 
be present, re- 
cognising that a 
second might 
mean all the dif- 
ference between 
life and death to 
these men> de- 
liberately hurled 
himself against 
them, leaping 
into the air so as 
to insulate him- 
self from the 
floor. His full 
weight fell on his 
son, and was 
sufficient to 
loosen him from 
the grasp of 
Lazzari and to 
knock the latter away from the charged copper 
bar, only, however, to fall back upon it and 
now sustain the full force of the current by 
himself. But with undaunted pluck Mr Bevan 
went at it again, this time trying repeatedly 
to kick I^azzari's foot from under him, and 




thus bring him to the ground away from the 
bar. But in this he failed ; each time his foot 
touched that of the unfortunate man he 
received a shock that sent his leg flying 
violently back. 

All this takes time to relate, but it was 
scarcely half a minute from the moment of 
Lazzari receiving the first shock before the 
relater of the event rushed to the switches 
and cut the entire current off. 

In his account of it he says that he 
observed a heavy arc or electric flame 
between the man's foot and the iron bolt, 
and Bevan junior noticed the same pheno- 
menon between his shoulder and the copper 
bar. It is to these two arcs that Lazzari 
unquestionably owes his life, as they absorbed 
a large portion of the power that would 
otherwise have been expended on his body. 
A pressure of twenty-four thousand volts 
properly applied would in a few seconds 
shrivel a man up almost beyond recognition. 

The victim was terribly burnt on his 
shoulder and foot, but, strange to say, was 
conscious very shortly after the accident, and 
then declared that his senses never left him 
until the current was cut off, and that he felt 
no sensation in particular, and was aware of 
all that was going on. Undoubtedly the 
violence of the shock completely paralyzed 
his nervous system, and this incident goes far 
to prove that death by electric shock is 
absolutely painless. 

Few are the engineers of any experience 
who, \h the course of their career, have not 
come across instances of that wonderful 
courage that sometimes sacrifices its owner 
to duty for duty's sake. 

At a certain electricity works in the North 
of England some few years agu there had 
been trouble with one of the engines, which 
necessitated its bsing taken completely to 
pieces and overhauled. As the work was 
urgent it was being carried on night and day, 
and on the first evening part of the engine, 
we : ghing probably about three or four tons, 
wa^ ready for lifting by the travelling crane 
that spanned the engine-room. 

The leading workman on the job, a trust- 
worthy man and an old sea-going engineer, 
chose a fairly stout chain with a rather small 
hook on the end wherewith to sling the engine, 
and as a matter of form just showed it to 
the engineer-in-charge, with the remark that 
it would be quite strong enough. Now, the 
engineer had his doubts, but being young 
and inexperienced, and perhaps terribly 
afraid of betraying ignorance, said nothing, 
preferring to trust to the greater experience 

Digitized by G< 

of his subordinate in such matters than to 
his own intuition that it was not strong 
enough. So the tackle was fixed to the 
crane, and in a short time the mass of iron 
hung suspended fifteen feet high on the 
small hook. 

The next proceeding was to run the crane 
and its burden down to the end of the engine- 
room, and, the hauling gear being manned, it 
started on its course, the suspended mass 
s winging gently as it passed over the tops of 
the running engines. 

It had moved a few feet when suddenly 
there was the noise of a heavy jerk, accom- 
panied by a small bump that was felt all over 
the building. All eyes were at once turned 
on the crane, and the foreman mentioned 
above, looking sharply up, missed his footing 
on the slightly raised part of the floor upon 
which he was standing and fell down on his 
ankle, spraining it to such an extent as to 
bring tears to his eyes. For a minute or two 
he sat there nursing it, giving vent to his 
feelings in language which is best left unsaid; 
and meanwhile, nothing further having 
happened, the crane was again started slowly 
down the engine room. 

This time it moved scarcely a foot when 
there was another jerk and a bump, and 
once more all eyes were fixed aloft trying to 
solve the mystery of this untoward occur- 
rence. The engineer-in-charge, by this 
time horribly anxious, moved close under- 
neath the crane, looking upwards, and to his 
horror discerned that the hook had opened 
and that the entire weight was now sus- 
tained practically on the point of it, a 
position that obviously could only last a very 
short time. 

It flashed through his mind that when the 
mass fell, as it must upon the slightest 
movement of the crane, it would descend 
upon one of the running engines, and the 
result of that could only be the utter wreck- 
ing of the engine and the bursting of its 
main steam-pipe, carrying steam at a pressure 
of one hundred and sixty pounds to the 
square inch and a temperature of about 
three hundred and sixty degrees. It was 
only a small engine-room, that would be 
quickly filled with the steam, and it was a 
toss-up whether all the men could get out in 
time to save their lives. Crying out, "The 
hook's bending," he rushed to the switches 
to disconnect the dynamo at any rate in the 
event of disaster ; and now the man who 
was nursing his foot to the accompaniment 
of strange incantations recognised his mis- 
take, and, despite his sprained ankle, starte4 

■_i 1 1 1 u i 1 1 '_* 1 1 1 




up with that courage and promptness in 
emergency that distinguish the sea -going 
engineer, to rectify his error if possible. 

Snatching up a stout rope sling and throw- 
ing it round his neck, incredible as it may 
seem, he started to climb with his disabled 
foot some twenty feet up the engines and 
steam-pipes to the crane, deliberately risking 
a fall that might easily be fata.1 and the 
possibility of being caught in this awful 
position by the scorching steam if the 
mass fell. Slowly and gradually he worked 
his way upwards, a foot here and a knee 
theJ*% now a rest and up a little more^ 

into every man whose lot is cast in dangerous 

The following experience, related to the 
writer by one of the participators in it, serves 
to show from what small causes a disaster 
will sometimes arise. 

A cable about three-quarters of an inch in 
diameter developed a fault in its insulation 
or covering close by a large battery of storage 
cells with which it was in direct connec- 
tion. The result was immediately a tremen- 
dous rush of current through the fault, and 
the ignition of the rubber insulation of the 
cable* If there is anything that burns well 

HE STARTF.l* IVS TlfK Alus f rhKILOrS I" -V W p- 

until at last with a mighty effort he pulled 
himself up on to one of the crane girders. 
Stopping for a second to adjust the sling 
more safely round his neck, he started on 
the most perilous part of his journey — namely, 
to crawl along the girder, about seven inches 
wide, to the part from which the load was 
hung, and this directly over the engine that 
was threatened with destruction. 

Pluck is undoubtedly infectious, for now 
another man started, and no! being disabled 
was in a very short time sitting alongside the 
foreman, and the two of them, leaning over 
at great risk of falling on to the running 
machinery, speedily supplemented the hook 
with the rope sling, thus saving thousands of 
pounds' worth of damage, and, incidentally, 
possibly their own lives. 

The outer world hears nothing of these 
things, for the reason that serious breakdowns 
do not frequently occur ; but the engineer 
knows that their in frequency is not only due 
to good management, hut often to that sense 
of duty which a few years of work inculcate 

Digitized by Gt 



it is rubber, and a few seconds were sufficient 
for the flames to seize on an adjacent wooden 
partition and the boarded roof. 

At this point several of the staff arrival 
on the scene with a fire-hose, which was 
turned on the blazing woodwork, and just 
served to keep the fire somewhat in hand. 
The smoke, coming as it did chiefly from 
the burning rubber, was intolerable, much 
more so than that of an ordinary fire, and 
the men could only stand it by the aid of 
moistened handkerchiefs held to the nose j 




opening doors or windows to disperse the 
smoke was, of course, out of the question, 

The corner from which the fire emanated 
was at once a terrible and beautiful sight ; 
blue and green flashes of a dazzling bright- 
ness, and a heat that 
could be felt several 
yards off, were darting 
in and out, converting 
everything they 
touched to an intense 
white heat, and re- 
igniting the woodwork 
as fast as it w&s put 
out by the hose. Un- 
fortunately it was im- 
possible to cut the 
current off, as there 
was no switch between 
the cable and the bat- 
tery, which was now 
di sc h arg i ng hundreds 
of horse-power through 
the leak and trans- 
forming it into fire. 

Water will not put 
out the electric arc, 
and, indeed, only 
tends to make matters 
worse, so the hose 
was kept scrupulously 
away from the point 
of all the mischief 
and only played on 
the adjacent wood- 
work. It soon be- 
came apparent that 
there was absolutely 
no means of stopping 
this fire. Cutting 
off the current 

would mean entering the battery-room and 
disconnecting some cable, which no man 
could do and live owing to the overpowering 
smoke and the risk attendant on breaking 
such a huge current by anything hut a proper 
switch. So things stood, and it was only 
possible to keep the woodwork from igniting 
further and trust to the battery exhausting 
itself or the cable burning apart. 

At this juncture the folding-doors leading 
to the street opened with a crash, and a 
brazen - helmed fireman, axe in hand, 
step|>ed off the top of a fire-escape that 
had been brought up, together with several 
engines. The opening of the doors gave rise 
to a great draught of air, through them and 
the hole in the roof; and now a curious 
thing happened. 

The battery had been freshly charged, 
and was consequently giving off bubbles of 
oxygen and hydrogen gas, which, as everyone 
knows, form together one of the most explo- 
sive compounds existing. The draught swept 






the flames over the top of the lottery and 
ignited the bubbles of gas with a constant 
roar that can only be compared to the rattle 
of u Maxim gun ; add to this the vivid flames 
of green light and the black, oily smoke of 
burning rubber, and we get a picture which 
appalled even the fireman, used as he was to 
danger and terrible sights. However, disci- 
pline told, and still the men hung on, fighting 
this fire, fed by hundreds of horse power* 
that they knew no power on earth could 

But gradually the reports died away, slowly 
the lightning flashes grew less and less, with an 
occasional burst out, and in a minute or two 
died, excepting for a small crackle here and 
there and a little pin-point of blue flame. 

Luckily the cable, as was anticipated, had 
Original from 




burnt itself asunder, and the end accumulator 
of the battery had helped matters by fusing 
into a shapeless lump of lead and thus 
breaking the circuit. As soon as possible 
the battery was disconnected by sawing 
through a cable — a very nasty job— and by 
dint cf great exertions the current was 
turned on to the mains again in a few hours. 

Everyone has 
some idea of the 
dire results of a 
boiler explosion ; 
to be killed by a 
shell must be a 
comparatively pain- 
less operation. We 
are fortunate in 
this country in 
possessing a 
motherly legisla- 
tion that by its 
strictness renders 
such disasters of 
infrequent occur 
rence. There are 
times, however, 
when the electrical 
engineer has to run 
even this risk in 
order to keep up 
with the main 
Canon of his pro- 
fessioml religion, 
M Anything rather 
than lights out." It 
is a known fact that 
some years back, in 
a certain large I-on- 
don electricity 
works that for 
obvious reasons 
shall be nameless, 
some of the boilers 
were in such an un- 
safe condition that the chief engineer had to 
personally patrol the boiler-room in order to 
keep the stokers — who were fully aware of 
the state of affairs — at their posts. The faults 
were, of course, rectified as soon as possible, 
but for some time the place was running 
under these conditions, luckily without any 
serious mishap. 

But explosions are not always due to faulty 
plant ; now and again a boiler has to be 
deliberately run to the danger-point to keep 
things going. When the water becomes too 
low in the boiler through carelessness, or 
something having gone wrong with the 
pumps used for forcing it in, this point is 

Digitized by Ln 

always reached ; and the writer is never 
1 kely to forget a personal experience of his 
own in this direction, when two large boilers, 
one after the other, were run w T ell into the 
margin of danger in a vain attempt to keep 
the machinery running and the lights in. 

It was about 2 a.m. on the night watch, and 
the engineer- in -charge, trying hard to keep 

awake, was nodding 

over a pipe and a 

dull book, to the 
peaceful hum of 
the engines. It 
was nearly time for 
him to make his 
half-hourly rounds, 
and he was lament- 
ing the hard fate 
that kept him out 
eff his bed at night 
and obliged him to 
dance attendance 
on his troublesome 
charge, when the 
voice of the Cock- 
ney coal - trimmer 
thoroughly aroused 
him with "Please, 
sir, the stoker sez 
ow } e can ? t 
water into 
biler, and 
come and 



a look at 'or ? " 


piroTo. showing tiik cuNbiriitN of ihe caiilh krforb 

From a Ffwto, bfl ORIGINATED. [(J^rtf fct&nu. Ltd. 

Mentally consign- 
ing the stoker, 
trimmer, and No. 
10 " biler JJ to the 
nether regions, the 
engineer went out 
to the boiler -house, 
there to find the 
recalcitrant boiler 
with just a little 
water showing in the gauge-glasses and the 
pumps refusing to work. Obviously the 
thing to do was to tackle the pumps and find 
out what was wrong, so to work they fell, 
trying this, that, and the other expedient, but 
with no success. 

Things were getting unpleasant, for by 
now the water in the boiler had sunk com- 
pletely out of sight, and the danger-point 
was rapidly approaching ; but luckily there 
was another boiler ready standing under 
banked fires with steam up, so No. ro was 
shut off, the fires taken out, and No* 1 1 put 
to work instead. This meant half an hour's 
respite, and back to work went all hands, 


2 64 


having now got on the track of what was 
wrong. But could it be rectified in half an 
hour? — that was the question* Perhaps r 
few minutes over might do it, but certainly 
not half an hour, and those few minutes 
might mean an explosion. Was he justified 
in risking it ? thought the engineer, and, any- 
way, would the men stand to their posts ? 
And as he thought and worked, down went 
the water in the gauge-glasses. 

Half an hour passed ; another quarter 
might see the thing through, but now the 
water was out of sight and had been for a 
few minutes. Another five minutes and the 
men began to show signs of wavering ; the 
coal-trimmer disappeared, and the stoker was 
evidently beginning to think of his wife and 
children* Was it possible to hold out 
another five minutes ? No ; the men would 
not stand — small 'blame to them — and if 
they went everything was hopeless. 

Obviously it was no good, " Draw the 
fires," came the order, and 
never was order — dangerous 
though its fulfilment might 
be — obeyed with more 
alacrity. Out nn the 
checker ■ plates 
fell the white- 
hot fl am ing 
mass in a few 
powerful strokes 
of the stoker's 
rake. Bang 
went the fire 
doors, and the 
stoker stood 
mopping his 
brow, thankful 

that he had not played the coward ; and into 
the engine-room went the engineer to perform 
that to him most painful of all duties, stop- 
ping the machinery and putting the lights 

Doubtless as they faded down and down 
many an irate consumer showered hearty 
expletives upon the heads of the men that 
had failed. Perhaps, had they seen their 
efforts and appreciated the dangers they had 
willingly run for their convenience, it might 
have been otherwise. 

In conclusion, it is necessary to point out 
that such shock and fire accidents as have 
been detailed here need not be feared 
by the: user of electric light or power. 
All good house installation work is carried 
out under rigid rules that completely pro- 
tect him from harm of any kind, and an 
electrical pressure sufficient to cause fatal 
or even harmful' shock is never under any 
conditions allowed to enter a house* 

The dangers 
connected with 
the generation of 
electricity are 
often considera- 
ble — many of the 
above incidents 
are by no means 
extraordinary — 
but the risks, 
such as they are, 
are strictly con- 
fined to the men 
who have been 
so aptly termed 
" the slaves of 
the lamp/ 1 


f^ru"*nL" fc Original from 


By Mrs. Ba'ii.ue Reynolds (G. M- Robins). 

was the merest coincidence 
from beginning to end. Lady 
Eleanor Lloyd had been 
flustered by reports of an 
extensive burglary at a 
count ry house nowhere near 
F ledge! ey Manor. 

The affair was no doubt a bad one : a 
housemaid had been killed by a revolver- 
shot, But all this was in another county, and 
was universally thought to be traceable to the 
connivance of a manservant. Nevertheless, 
in the absence of the Honourable William, 
her husband, then shooting big game in the 
Rockies, her ladyship suddenly became con- 
vinced that her notorious family jewels would 
be far safer at the Rectory, "where, you know, 
my dear, nobcxly would ever think of looking 
for valuables," as she earnestly told Mrs, Vyall. 
The manner in which the trinkets were 
smuggled from the Manor to the Rectory was 
worthy of Sherlock Holmes, Fortunately, 
Lady Eleanor was a typical Lady Bountiful, 
and was always sending baskets of grapes, 
soup, flowers, and baby-clothes to Mrs. Vyall 
and Marcia for distribution. Laden in this 
manner, she drove over one warm October 
day, and a mysterious unpacking took place 
in the sunny dining-room, with sun-blinds 
discreetly lowered 

Vol xrviL — 54. < 

by Google 

Diamond tiaras, ruby bracelets, aigrette?;, 
rivieres, finger-rings, necklaces, and a superb 
parure of sapphires appeared from the 
recesses of the harmless-looking baskets, and 
from a leather travelling bag carried by her 
ladyship. Marcia's eyes rested fascinated on 
the coruscations of blazing brilliancy which 
lay on the dingy serge table-cover ; and t 
being only twenty- two, she heaved a tiny sigh 
for this sparkling side of life which .never 
could be hers. 

Lady Eleanor intercepted the glance and 
the sigh and laughed good-humou redly. 

"Marry a millionaire and you could get 
some like them, Marcia," said she, " You 
know you are coming to stay with me for my 
house-party next month/* 

Marcia laughed and shook her pretty head, 
but she blushed a little, too. Marriage and 
millions had had little port in a brain fully 
occupied with petty parochial details and the 
education of numerous small brothers and 
sisters. This autumn the last of the Rectory 
children, aged ten, had finally forsaken her 
tuition and departed to one of the numerous 
institutions for the free education of the 
children of the clergy. Marcia could hardly 
realize her freedom, but felt her solitude 

Not even Clementina, the fine, sturdy North- 




country woman who had served the Rectory 
for years, was to know of its sudden trans- 
formation into a Safe Deposit. So the baskets 
were cunningly packed one inside the other, 
the velvet and morocco cases consigned pro 
tern, to the interior of the big ottoman, among 
hockey sticks, bats, and ping-pong balls ; and 
Clementina innocently brought in tea and 
found the room just as usual. Afterwards, 
Lady Eleanor and Mrs. Vyall sat out in 
the garden in the golden autumn sunset, 
among the drifting of the beech leaves, while 
Marcia deftly carried the gorgeous treasures 
upstairs in instalments, each with a pile of 
half-made charity garments thrown over it, to 
delude Clementina should she be encoun- 
tered on the way. All was deposited in the 
old oak chest where the Vyalls kept their 
modest collection of family plate, and which 
stood in Mrs. Vyall's room. Marcia, when 
she had packed away everything, compared 
it all, in her own methodical way, with Lady 
Eleanor's catalogue ; and then locked the 
chest and carried the keys to her mother, 
under the tulip tree. 

"And now I shall sleep in peace," said 
Lady Eleanor. "There's plenty of plunder 
for them still up at the Manor; but they 
won't get those sapphires that James II. 
gave to William's ancestress, Beatrice Lloyd, 
the minx ! She had a fine discrimination in 
gems, however little one may sympathize 
with her taste in lovers." 

She made her adieux, leaving Mrs. Vyall a 
little perturbed. 

" I don't like it ; a thing like this always 
leaks out," she said. " So unnecessary. The 
things were perfectly safe at the Manor. Of 
course, it is understood that we are in no 
sense responsible." 

" Well, I suppose they are safer here than 
they could be anywhere. Nobody would 
dream of her entrusting them to us," said 
Marcia. " We have only to forget that they 
are there and it will be all right. I am 
certain nobody could possibly know." 

"Except Kyrle,"said Mrs. Vyall. Kyrle 
was Lady Eleanor's maid. 

It was, perhaps, unreasonable of the 
rector's wife to be vexed when, the follow- 
ing week, Lady Eleanor went to Brighton. 
What protection her ladyship, at the Manor, 
could afford to her valuables at the Rectory 
it is not easy to say. But Mrs. Vyall seemed 
to look upon her departure in the light of a 
kind of betrayal. 

But use is a marvellous thing. When 
Lady Beatrice's ill-gotten sapphires had lain 
a month in the oak chest, nobody gave them 

a thought. There they were and there they 
stayed, while the world went on its trivial 
round, and precious stones were as naught 
to the inhabitants of the Rectory in com- 
parison with the fact that the vestry roof 
leaked and that scarlet fever had broken out 
at the school to which Archie had so lately 
been consigned. 

Archie was the Benjamin, the Rectory pet ; 
and the daily bulletin was waited for with 
impatience, which from day to day grew 
more acute, more painful, until the terrible 
morning arrived which everyone felt as if 
they had foreseen from the first, when the 
account was supplemented by a telegram of 
such a nature that Mr. and Mrs. Vyall 
promptly packed a handbag and a hold-all 
and departed, leaving Marcia to break her 
heart by herself. 

The weather was changed indeed from 
that calm day of dim October sunshine when 
Marcia brought her mother the key of the 
chest, under the tulip tree. A savage, black 
November had wreaked its spite upon the 
land, and the day upon which the anxious 
parents departed was wild, wet, and cold. 

In the sudden stress of feeling, the tumult 
of busy preparation, the rush to accomplish 
the long drive to the station in time to catch 
the only train which could land them at 
St. Richard's School that day, not one of 
the three custodians gave a single thought 
to their charge. It was not until, having 
driven the pony back from the station in the 
teeth of a wind which was fast becoming a 
blizzard, she was seated shivering over her 
solitary slice of cold meat for lunch that the 
thodght of it slid into Marcia's soul with a 
stirring of vague discomfort. She laughed 
at herself a moment later. Nobody knew 
the treasure was there. If they did, and were 
resolved upon having it, the presence of her 
father would indeed be a frail barrier. 

The jewels were safe ; and if they were 
not, there was no help for it. She had other 
preoccupations, other miseries, without adding 
a fear of burglars to her troubles. 

She sat down to write the news of Archie's 
illness to her various brothers and sisters, 
and as she wrote the tears trickled down her 
face, blotting the cheap note-paper. While 
she wrote the darling whose pretty ways had 
been their delight was fighting for his life ! 
What did burglars matter? Nobody ever 
burgled in Fledgeley. Many doors were left 
unsecured all night. She wished her darling's 
life as safe as Lady Eleanor's trinkets. 

Yet, as the brief day closed in upon the 
wild, wind-vexed forests, she found herself un- 

university of Michigan 




easy. She had never before been left alone, 
and though to her parents she had scouted 
the notion of nervousness, she nevertheless 
began to experience it. After tea she took 
her work and sought Clementina's company 
in the clean, comfortable kitchen. She re- 
flected what a comfort it was that there was 
now a telegraph-office in a village little more 
than a mile distant. " They will wire if 
there is any news," she assured Clementina 
and herself. 

M But not to-night," objected the hand- 
maiden ; "they wouldn't get there in time to 
get a wire through that could be delivered 
here this evening." 

It was a wild night, The wind howled, 
driving hail in fierce sweeps against the 
windows. Marcia 
felt glad that it 
was a noisy night ; 
she should not be 
able to lie and 
listen s in the dead 
hours, to those 
cracks and mur- 
murs which for 
ever break the 
silence of a house 
when all is still 
It w^is past nine 
o'clock, and 
Clementina had 
just arisen to 
pack up the 
kitchen fire be- 
fore retiring to 
bed, when the 
knock and ring 
which Marcia 
had been dread- 
i ng pealed 
through the 
empty house. 

She leapt to 
her feet with a 
despairing cry, 
Archie must be 
dead ! Spring- 
ing forward, she 
darted out of 
the kitchen, flew along the hall, and flung 
the door wide, confronting a biggish, thick- 
set man, with close -cropped, black hair, who 
carried a brown leather bag in his hand 

She had barely a second in which to realize 
that he was a complete stranger and carried 
no orange envelope, when he asked, in a 
deep, rather forbidding voice, " Is this 
Fledgeley Rectory ? " 

"Ye — es," she stammered, confusedly, 
standing with her hand on the door, 

" Perhaps/' said the stranger, glancing at 
her as if wondering who she was, t4 you 
would allow me to come in and close the 
door ? The wind amounts to a hurricane. 
Thanks so much. Is Mr* Vyall at home ? " 

He closed the door, The howling 
murmur of the storm receded into outside 
distance. Marcia felt herself seized with 
sudden panic. 

Who was this man ? What did he want ? 
In her dilemma it occurred to her to say 
that her father was expected home in a few 
minutes ; but against this was her ingrained 
habit of truth and the presence of Clemen- 
tina, who, not knowing the dark secret which 
tugged at Marcia's heart- 
strings, would probably 
be at a loss to under- 
stand why she should 
tell a fib. 

" The rector," she 

faltered, " is not in just 

now. You had 




morrow if you 
wish to see him." 
"Well,* said the 
visitor, who had 
removed a very 
wet cap from his 
black head and 
was wiping the 
rain from his 
tanned, weather- 
beaten face, *' if 
you could allow 
it, I would rather 
wait to see him 
now, I have come 
from Liverpool 
and, you see, I 
can't very well get 
back there to- 

Marcia felt quite 
faint. What could 
she do? Her 
natural intelli- 
gence came to her aid enough for her to say, 
timidly, "Would you give me your name, 
please ? n 

ft ' C ertai nly , " he ans we red j and, setting 
down his bag, produced from his pocket- 
book a card, inscribed with the name of 
Marmaduke Selby, with the address, M British 
African Explorers 3 Club." 

Marcia held tm f Klfll uncertainly. The 




name upon it was well known to her. 
Marmaduke Selby was the friend of her 
father's boyhood, and she knew he had a 
son who held a Government appointment in 
Africa. But it did seem so unlikely that a 
friend of her father should apply for hospi- 
tality at that hour of the night. She wavered 

" Are you Miss Vyall ? " asked the stranger, 

"•Yes; my father is — is away," said the 

" Have you heard him speak of the 

" Oh, yes, often." 

" Well," said he, passing his handkerchief 
over his evidently saturated covert coat, ' 
" from what you have heard him say, do you 
think he would turn me from the door on a 
night like this ? " 

"That he wouldn't, I'm sure," broke in 
Clementina, brusquely. "Surely, Miss Marcia, 
your mamma would wish you to offer the 
gentleman a bed" 

The girl began to collect herself. " I must 
ask you to excuse what seemed like rude- 
ness," she said. " I — I thought you were a 
telegram. My little brother is very ill ; I 
thought it was bad news. Please come into 
the kitchen ; there is no fire anywhere else." 

Her visitor took off his coat and hung it 
up. Then he followed her down the tiled 
passage to the big, cosy kitchen, with its lamp- 
light and drawn patchwork curtains — pride of 
Clementina's heart. The sandy cat sat on 
the snowy deal table, close to Marcia's work- 
basket and open book. Clementina spread a 
cloth, found cold meat and pickles, set the 
kettle to boil for coffee, and began to toast a 
tea-cake, while Marcia, frozen out of her usual 
pretty manner, stood embarrassed, staring at 
the stranger, and trying to .make a few 
conventional remarks about the weather 
and his long, wet walk. When he had 
rubbed himself down with a rough towel and 
was seated by the fire, holding his chilled 
hands to the blaze, she called Clementina and 
left the kitchen, carefully shutting the door 
behind her. 

" Clementina," she said, " do you really 
think it's all right? Must we keep him 

" Why, what could be wrong ? " asked the 
Yorkshire woman. " He's the rector's friend. 
How can you turn him out in such weather 
at this time of night, with no place to go to 
inside of three miles ? " 

" You are sure father and mother will think 
I did right to keep him ? " 

" Why, miss, I don't see what other there 
is to do. Isn't he Mr. Selby's son ? " 

" He says so," said Marcia, slowly. 

•"Well, dear heart alive, why should he 
say so if he wasn't ? What should he come 
here for ? Tell me that. I don't suppose a 
tramp would have Mr. Selby's visiting-card; 
besides, he's no tramp, as you may see by 
the looks of him." 

"Then you think he looks— all right? " 

Clementina did. Marcia surrendered. 
Her nervous fears were by no means driven 
away, but they were soothed unreasonably 
by the servant's failure to grasp the situation. 
There was nothing she could do, for to tell 
Clementina that the jewels were there would 
be to break her given word. Suppose the 
morning's telegram had been a hoax and 
her parents had been called off on purpose ? 
They would not arrive at St. Richard's that 
night in time to dispatch a warning to her. 
What was her duty? She could not say. 
Her mind was a chaos as she went to the 
linen cupboard and took out clean sheets. 

" I can put him in your mother's room 
easy," said Clementina. " In fact, we must ; 
there's no other beds aired." 

" Oh, Clementina, no 1 I won't have it 1 
He must sleep in my room, and I'll sleep in 

" Miss Marcia, you're daft I Where's the 
use of such a piece of fool's work as that ? 
Look at the state of your carpet, and the 
looking-glass that won't screw up, not to 
mention the paint .on the washstand, and all 
your things to move. No ; have it my way. 
Put him in the best room." 

Marcia stood rigid. Before her eyes the 
sapphires that were the King's gift seemed to 
glow and burn. She was the custodian. 

Suddenly turning to Clementina, she laid 
the sheets across her arms. " Run down and 
put them to the fire," said she, " and wait 
till the kettle boils and make his coffee. I'll 
strip the bed." 

The moment she was alone she locked 
herself into her mother's room, carefully 
drew down the blinds, found a bag for soiled 
linen in a cupboard, and, drawing a bunch 
of keys from her pocket, went down on her 
knees before the oak chest. As in most old 
chests of the kind, the lock was massive and 
strong, but simple : calculated to resist force 
rather than skill. Opening it, she slipped 
the cases, one after the other, and the list, 
in Lady Eleanor's sprawling hand, into her 
bag, carefully closed the chest again, locked 
it with an effort demanding the use of both 
hands, and, with heart beating in her throat, 




stood up, took her candle, and peered out 
into the passage. All was quiet. Clemen- 
tina was no doubt engaging the guest in 
talk below. With the heavy calico bag 
in hand she walked down the passage to 
her own door. As she neared it a light 
wavered on the staircase wall, a head came 
into sight above the topmost stair, and 
Mr. Selby appeared, his leather bag in one 
hand, a candle in the other. 

The girl felt her 
head swim. She had 
almost screamed. 
Wildly she hoped that 
her appearance was 
not so awful as her 

"Ah! there you 
are," he said, easily. 
" Clementina thought 
you would kindly 
show me my room. 
My feet are so wet I 
want to get into dry 

There was a pause, 
which £0 Marcia 
seemed tremendous. 
She clutched her bag 
as though her life 
depended upon it ; 
and, without making a 
movement or offering 
to show him the way, 
she said — and the say- 
ing of it was a huge 
effort — "The third 
your left," 

"Thanks/ 1 he replied, with a 
dryness of tone which seemed to 
reflect upon her obvious kirk of cordiality. 
He passed her without making the snatch 
she more than half expected, and she crept 
into her room, bolting the door behind her 
and shaking in every limb, 

He had seen her in the very act. Grant- 
ing for the sake of argument that he was a 
thief, he now knew where the booty was as 
well as she did, and could lay his hands 
upon it in a moment. She had done the 
most foolish thing she could, and she felt as 
though all were lost for one black moment, 
till suddenly she had an idea. 

Pushing the bag out of sight under the 
bed, she waited till she heard his door open, 
and then issued into the passage, passing the 
guest with a nod and a smile, as he emerged 
with hair newlv brushed and clean hands. 

down directly/' said she, entering with an air 
of unconcern the room he had just left. 

Hardly had she passed from sight, how- 
ever, before she had whisked round and was 
watching him through the crack of the door. 
He neither paused nor turned his head, but 


" I am going to make your bed : 1 shall be Hal 


went steadily on down the stairs. She crept 
to the balustrade and listened; heard the 
swing-door of the kitchen passage creak 
behind him ; heard the murmur of his voice 
speaking to Clementina before she was 
satisfied Then, darting into her room, she 
snatched the hag of valuables from the floor 
and ran upstairs with it to the boys' empty 
attic bedrooms* In one of these was a set 
of pegs, thickly hung with boyish garments, 
and protected in front by- a curtain. Marcia 
hung the bag among these, well hidden, 
drew the curtain, and crept down again 
unseen. Original fron 





to make the bed, she joined her guest 

He was seated, as she entered, in a restful 
attitude in the big Windsor arm-chair. He 
had finished his supper and was smoking a 
pipe, a cup of coffee at his elbow ; on his 
dark, purposeful face was the expression of 
content which comes to a man who, after 
buffeting the elements, finds himself dried, 
warmed, fed. He looked up keenly at 
Marcia as she came in, rose, offered her 
a chair, and asked if she disliked his 
smoking. She answered "No," and sat 
down opposite him on the hearth, her large, 
dark blue eyes fixed upon him as though 
searching for some sign which should re- 
assure her or convince her of his villainy. He 
began to talk at once. 

" I am just beginning to realize," he said, 
"how much cause I have to apologize to 
you, and I am afraid you are setting me 
down for a boor. But until Clementina 
enlightened me just now I never dreamt that 
you and she were alone in the house. I 
thought there was a large family of you." 

Marcia's answer was not exactly encourag- 
ing. "We are a large family," she said, 

" I ought not to have come without writ- 
ing or wiring," he said ; " but I thought it 
would save time to come myself, and some- 
how I never considered the possibility of the 
rector's absence. I'm very sorry to hear of 
the cause that called him away. How long 
do you think they will be gone ? " 

" Oh, not long," said Marcia, hastily. 
" Papa cannot leave the parish ; he, at least, 
is sure to be back to-morrow." She hardly 
knew what made her say so. She had no 
reason to suppose it true ; and a return to- 
morrow would be too late to save her — by 
many hours ! 

« He looked surprised. " Oh, do you think 
so? Clementina" — with a motion of his 
head towards the scullery, where the said 
maiden was washing up — " seemed to think 
he would be away several days. If you are 
right I shall not have had my journey in 
vain after all. I want his signature ; it's a 
case of cabling out supplies to a distant 
relation of yours whom I came across in 
Africa, and I thought the rector could vouch 
for his bona fides. But I won't bore you with 
the story," he broke off. " You look very 
tired. The truth is " — he leaned forward to 
tap his pipe against the stove — " you're half- 
dead with anxiety." 

" Anxiety ? " flashed Marcia, off her guard, 
forgetting everything in her absorbing desire 

Digitized by v_^OOQlC 

to play her part. " Why should I be anxious, 

He gave her a peculiar look. "About 
your little brother, I understood" 

She gave a helpless little laugh. "Of 
course. I — I seem stupid to-night." 

" I can't tell you how much I regret my 
intrusion," he said, thoughtfully. " I wouldn't 
stay, only it's the kind of night in which 
one wouldn't turn out the proverbial dog. 
Besides," leaning back with a humorous 
smile, " I shall be a protection to you both, 

" A protection from what ? " asked Marcia, 
twisting her fingers and staring at the fire. 

"From burglars," said he, composedly. 
" Do you know, when you opened the door 
to me this evening, you looked as if you 
thought I was a buiglar." 

Her lip curled contemptuously. "There 
are no burglars hereabout," said she; and 
Clementina, who was now replacing her dishes 
on the dresser, laughed outright. 

"It's much they'd get by coming here," 
she remarked, as she hurried out to the 

" Burglars have more sense than to waste 
their skill on the clergy," said Marcia, smjling, 
with white lips. 

" Well, there's a big chest in the room I'm 
sleeping in that looks as if it might contain 
valuables," said the visitor, easily; and his 
eye seemed to pierce her. " However, if 
they should come, we're ready for 'em. I come 
from a part of the world where the one that 
shoots first usually comes out top " ; with 
which he slipped from his pocket a daintily- 
mounted revolver and laid it on the table, 
with a smile. . 

Marcia's heart sank ; she thought the hour 
had come. In a moment that gleaming toy 
would be levelled at her and she would be 
requested to hand over Lady Eleanor's jewels. 
For a moment the room swam, and she fought, 
as it were, for consciousness. 

" You do look bad," she heard the guest 
say ; " you ought to go to bed at once. There's 
no chance of a wire until to-morrow morning, 
you know." 

His voice seemed to come from a distance. 
She gathered all her strength and stood up. 

" I will wish you good-night," she said. 
Clementina was pumping noisily in the 

She did not offer to shake hands, but took 
up her candlestick from the table and went 
out, leaving Clementina to see the guest 
upstairs and make all fast for the night. Of 
course, she had no intention of going to bed 




or to sleep. She merely exchanged her frock 
for a warm blue dressing-gown ; and then, 
wrapping herself in the eiderndown quilt off 
her bed, sat <lown in a chair, with her feet on 
a hot- water bottle, to watch the night through. 

She had made herself a cup of strong 
coffee, provided herself with an interesting 
book and an extra candle, and secured from 
her father's dressing-room a sword, a relic of 
the Crimea, which she unsheathed and placed 
beside her. Thus prepared, she hoped to 
triumph over her usual sleepiness. 

She heard Clementina laughing gaily as 
she escorted Mr, Selby upstairs ; heard her 
pass on to her own quarters above with a 
cheerful good-night ; heard the stranger shut 
and lock his door, and then quiet settled 
down upon the house— quiet which grew 
more profound as the moments ticked by. 

The wild wind had dropped. It still 
moaned in the chimneys and rustled the 
tree-tops ; but it no longer thundered and 
blustered against the casements, nor roared 
like distant artillery, Marcia sat hearkening 
to its rn titterings, with ears strained and 
faculties on the alert. The night lapped its 
mantle inkily around the old Rectory, and 
weighed more and more heavily on the 
healthy frame of the tired 
girl Do what she would, 
she found her head droop- 
ing, and came to herself 
several times with a start 
before relinquishing the 
struggle. At last, all un- 
aware, she passed out of 
consciousness into the land 
of dreams. 

Suddenly she ~ 

was wide awake. 
What had roused 
her ? A crash, 
like the banging 
of a door or the 
sudden fall of 
some hard, heavy 
thing — such as 
the lid of the oak 
chest in her 
mother's room. 

In one second 
Marcia was on 
her feet in tense 
expectancy, min- 
gled with futile 
rage against her- 
self for having 
slept She had 
dreamed,, but she 

knew that the noise which awoke her was real. 
Without hesitation she took up her candle 
and slipped out into the gloom of the passage. 
In a moment she heard something else: a 
voice spoke —a man's voice — a short, sharp 
word, which sounded like a command. As 
she started to run along to the door of the 
stranger's room the sharp report of a shot 
rang out It was followed by a suppressed cry 
or scream, and then there was silence again. 

Though she had believed that something 
might happen, yet now that the moment had 
come she felt a shock of surprise, mingled 
with the anguish which her failure to keep 
watch caused her. She believed that Clemen- 
tina, always a light sleeper, had been awaked 
by some noise, that she had come down- 
stairs, that she was being murdered in that 
room. No doubt as to what to do assailed 
her. She ran to the door, found it locked, 
darted into her father's dressing-room, and 
discovered that> as she had hoped* the thief 
had overlooked the locking of the communi- 
cating door, which, on the inner side, was 
covered with a curtain. She opened this 
and was within the room in a moment 

A waft of winter air blew cold against her 
face- The window was wide open, the bed 

G06?k l 






was vacant. The oak chest was also open. 
Before it, with a candle in his hand, knelt 
the sai-disant Mr. Selby, a jacket and trousers 
hastily drawn over his sleeping-suit, turning 
the contents rapidly over and over. 
Clementina was not there. 

"What are you doing?" cried Marcia, 
impetuously, choking, not with fear, but 
with the consuming fire of her indignation. 

He sprang to his feet, his eyes resting on . 
her with a curious, excited look. " So this 
was it — you expected this ! " he cried, inco- 
herently, " I thought I had better look 
before seeing to him — he might have put a 
small thing in his mouth — but he is safe 
enough — he fell, I think. I had better go 
and bring him in. Pull yourself together \ 
it's all right." 

As he spoke he had ,got upon his feet, 
which were bare, hastily donned a pair of 
slippers, and setting the candle on the dress- 
ing-table sprang upon the window-sill, where 
there seemed to be the top . of a ladder. • 
"You go and unbar the front door," he 
said ; " I'll bring him round," with which 
enigmatical words he disappeared, 

Marcia stood thunderstruck, her head 
swimming. Then she crept across the 
room and leaned from the window. She 
could just see the* huddled form of a man 
lying below in the garden-bed, her visitor 
bending over him ; and straightway deter- 
mining on her course, she shut and bolted 
the window and, with a great effort, closed 
the heavy shutters, never used unless the 
family were all away. Just as she had done 
this, conscious, as she barred out the light, 
of an exclamation of annoyance from below, 
there was an imperative knocking at the door, 
and Clementina's voice shouted : — 

. " Open, open ! I want to know the mean- 
ing of this ! I heard a pistol fired, as sure 
as I'm a living woman ! " Then, as the key 
was turned and the door opened, disclosing 
Marcia's livid face and wide eyes, the woman 
turned grey and tottered. " Miss Marcia ! 
In this room ! What have I done ? Oh, my 
child, my lamb, for pity's sake speak ! " she 
gasped, with dry lips, and an agony of 
urgency which the girl mercifully could not 

" I was right ; he was a thief," she stam- 
mered, hoarsely. "I heard a noise, and 
waked, and came to see. He has another 
man there outside, and a ladder. They had 
forced open the chest " 

" You heard a noise — you came to see ! " 
stormed Clementina. " You ought to know 
your mother would rather lose her last silver 

Digitized by V^OOQIC 

spoon than that you should run into danger. 
Then it was you he fired at ? " 

"Oh, no; his friend, I suppose," said 
Marcia, bewildered. 

" My dearie, why should he fire at his 
friend ? " 

"They — they quarrelled, perhaps," said 
the girl, with chattering teeth. "Anyhow, 
we are safe ; they are both outside. Let us 
close all the shutters all round the house. 
Stay! /First let us open this window and 
quickly, before they guess what we are doing, 
pull in the ladder. Oh, Clementina ! " — as 
she fumbled with the rusty bolts — "why 
didn't you let me send him away ? " 

Clementina's only answer was a groan. 
She was staring at the gaping chest and the 
neat little tool which lay upon the floor 
beside it. 

They opened the window very gingerly, 
but nobody was to be seen. Both the 
burglars had disappeared ; and as they, haul- 
ing with all their might, drew the short 
ladder inside the room they heard a loud 
knocking at the front door. 

" Let them knock ! " cried Marcia, full of 
excitement and triumph. " We can stand a 
siege now ! " 

They laid down the ladder — their own 
ladder, taken from the Rectory barn — care- 
fully upon the floor of the long room, and 
Clementina, her hands on her hips, stood 
considering the situation, while Marcia 
eagerly turned over the christening - cups, 
teapot, and Sheffield candlesticks. "They 
have taken nothing," she murmured. " They 
won't let it rest here ; they will get in again 
somehow, if they can. How incomparably 
stupid of hinrunot to guess that I had them 
in that bag, when he met me in the passage ! " 

" I am all mazed," said Clementina. " What 
any mortal should come burgling here for 
— and why, when he was having it all his 
own way in an empty room, he should go 
firing a shot to cripple his friend and rouse 
the house ! " 

" It's some kind of a trick," shivered 
Marcia, hardly audible for the continuous 
knocking and ringing below. "They mean 
us to let them in and then hold a pistol to 
our heads while they search the house." 

Clementina had been keenly investigating 
the room. " Miss Marcia, use your sense," 
said she. " If Mr. Selby's a thief he's a 
madman, too. No sane man could act in the 
way he's doing. Look here, he isn't even 
dressed properly ! He's huddled on a few 
things in a desperate hurry. Is it likely he 
should do that when he meant to carry off 




2 73 

the silver? It's the other man who's the 
thief, I believe Mr. Selhy woke up, saw a 
man in the room, fired, and hit him ; and we 
can't let him stay out there, half dressed, and 
the other bleeding to death for aught we 
know. I shall go and let him in. 1 ' 

" But — but— Mr, Selby was searching in 
the che*t when I saw him/* faltered Marcia, 
not in the least convinced. " Besides, do 
you think he could have ^lept while a man 
got through the window and prised open a 
lock ? No, Clementina, they are pretending. 
He means us to think just what you say, but 
that is only to get back into the house* Oh, 
Clementina, you don't understand, and I 
can't make you ! They mustn't come in ! 
They mustn't ! " 

4 * Well, anyway, I'm going to have a word 
with him," replied Clementina ; and she reso- 
lutely marched downstairs, Marcia following. 

unconscious- He must be brought in. 
Marota here struck into the conversation 
from behind, stipulating that the revolver 
should be handed over before the door 
was opened, and to this the enemy willingly 
agreed, and passed the deadly weajHm 
through the little window after unloading it 

"This man here is only armed with a 
cudgel," he said. H Evidently he believed 
■ the room to be- empty— I always sleep with 
my head right under the clothes ! He was so 
sure the rector was away that he didn't even 
trouble to look, and when I challenged him 
he did not believe that I was really armed. 
Come now, Miss Vyall, please open the door; 
we ought to see the extent of his injuries." 

Clementina, with the air of a hero leading 
a forlorn hope, unbarred the door, and Mr, 
Selby hauled into the entrance a figure so 
limp and ghastly that Marcia gave up all 


The girl stipulated that the door should not 
be opened, but that parley should be held 
through the tiny window that looked into the 
porch. Thus they questioned Mr. Selby, 
who declared what had actually happened to 
be exactly what Clementina had guessed* 
He slept soundly, awakened to find the thief 
peering into the chest, ordered him to stand 
still unless he wanted to be shot, and, on his 
disregarding the warning and rushing to the 
window, fired at him and broke his right arm. 
He had fallen with a crash and was quite 

Vol. xrvii. — 35. 

Digitized byL^OOQ 

idea that he could be shamming, and for the 
first moment thought him dead. As the 
lamplight fell upon him Clementina gave a 
discordant screech. 

" Why, if it isn't Cripps ! " she cried; " him 
that was butler at the Manor, and keeping 
company with Kyrle ! He bought the Otter's 
Head across the common, and Kyrle and 
him was to be married, but I heard he 
couldn't make the Otter's Head pay. But 
this makes the puzzle greater than ever,'* 

"On the contrary," said Marcia, gazing 
Original from 



down at the man, who was well known to 
her, " this explains it partly. " 

" Well," cried Clementina, vehemently, 
"whatever Cripps come here for he didn't 
come to thieve." 

11 1 suppose," said Selby, in a low and not 
very cordial voice * to the girl, " that you 
know what he came for ? " 

She assented, without speaking. 

They laid the wounded man as best they 
could on the old sofa* in the dining-room. 
He had not lost much blood ; the injury 
seemed to be to the head. The urgent thing 
was to fetch a doctor, and Selby at once 
volunteered to be the messenger and turned 
away to go upstairs and dress himself. He 
noticed, as he went out of the room, that 
Marcia followed him. But he was hurt arid 
angry with her, and was determined to give 
her no opening ; he concluded she wished 
to apologize, and he did not feel forgiving. 
However, she did not speak, merely coming 
slowly up behind him. He hurried into his 
clothes, and on issuing from his room saw 
her outside in the passage. It then occurred 
to him that she was keeping an eye on him, 
and his anger increased. He thought she 
should have more penetration than to think 
he was a person in need of the rector's 
spoons. As he thought of the fortune which 
he had made and was just come home to 
enjoy, a grim amusement almost banished 
his ill-humour, so much was he tickled by 
the thought of Marcia's poor little hoard. 

As he passed her he said, " I suppose I 
may as well notify the police, too ? " 

"If you please," said Marcia, and let him 
go, with no apology either for her suspicions 
or her barring out When he had gone 
she told Clementina to fetch her a clothes- 
line, and with this she bound the uncon- 
scious Cripps, in case he should revive 
before help came. Then she sat down to 
keep watch, with a brain which ached and 
throbbed and a heart which seemed as 
though it must burst. 

Clementina kept up a perfect babble of 
talk, but she heard none of it ; she was 
thinking of the man who had gone hurrying 
off to the village at that hour of the night, 
and who, apparently, really was the only son 
of her father's oldest friend — a man so 
certain of a welcome at the Rectory that the 
idea of apology for his sudden arrival never 
occurred to him. 

It seemed ages before the bell pealed, 
and when it did it was pulled as though the 
house were afire. Clementina rushed to the 
door, and admitted, not Selby and the 

Digitized by Gt 

doctor, as she expected, but the rector him^ 
self, half distraught: He staggered in, pant- 
ing, exhausted, looking wildly around him. 

" Good Heaven ! " he cried, " I am too 
late ! You are up ; you have lights. What 
has happened ? " 

His brow was moist with anguish, his com- 
plexion livid, his breath rattled in his throat. 
Before Clementina could reply he had rushed 
1 into the dining-room, and there stood petrified 
before the sight of his pale daughter mount- 
ing guard over the fainting felon. 

Marcia seemed past wonder ; she could 
not move. But a spasm of relief flickered 
over her features as she saw who it was. 

" My child, my. child ! " cried he, quite 
unnerved, bursting fairly into tears as he 
crossed the room and folded her to his heart. 
11 From the moment I discovered the telegram 
to be a forgery, when the same awful thought 
flashed across your mother's mind and mine, 
I have been struggling to get to you. It has 
been like a journey in a nightmare — part in 
the night express, part in a market cart, part 
on foot, and all the time the thought in my 

heart of my darling at the mercy of But 

I can't think of it. God be praised, my child 
is safe ! If the other be gone — well, I can 
hardly blame myself " 

He broke off. His eye rested on the un- 
conscious burglar. " Why — why, that's 
Cripps," he whispered. " I see, I see ; that 
is how it leaked out. Marcia, do you feel 
able to tell me what has happened ? " 

Clementina did. She burst into bewildered 
narrative. Why folks should send bogus 
telegrams for the sake of breaking into the 
Rectory was more than she could understand. 
But, however that might be, it was clear that 
they owed their very lives to Mr. Selby. 
Before she had finished they heard the wheels 
of the doctor's gig, and she ran away to 
admit him, the guest, and the bewildered 
village constable. 

The greeting between Duke Selby and his 
father's old friend would in any case have been 
a most cordial one. Now, as having saved 
the situation certainly, and Marcia's life 
potentially, he was hailed with a perfect 
rapture of gratitude. He thought the 
rector's agitation as much overdone as his 
daughter's, and wondered at the breathless 
interest with which he listened to Clementina's 
assurances that all in the chest was un- 
touched. " But there was— there was more, 
Marcia," whispered Mr. Vyall, his face that 
of a man who felt he could bear no more. 

Then Marcia got up and went to him, 
slipping her hand in his and rubbing her 




cheek against his sleeve. " It's a! I right*" she 
whispered ; " I've got them — they're safe. I 
took them out when Clementina said Mr. 

Selby must sleep there. I- 
scarlet " You see, I did not 
know him ; 1 had never seen 
him, and I was so afraid/' 

He put his arm about her 
and kissed her. 

She grew 

" Can you forgive me ? " she faltered, 
laying her hands in his, and as she looked up 
in his face the shadow in her sweet eyes was 
gone, and he saw her smile for the firs^ 

*can voq voACrv* mb7" she paltered.' 

" It was an ordeal, my child/' he said, 
tenderly, " and you have done well. There 
is no need for more mysteries, for this very 
morning I shall drive into York and deposit 
them in the bank. I think it right to explain 
to you, Selby, and to you, Dr. Ward, that my 
daughter's fears were more than justified, 
since she knew that our house contained 
jewellery valued at one hundred thousand 
pounds, deposited in our care by Lady 
Eleanor Lloyd, The easiness of the crime 
was doubtless the temptation to this poor 
man, whose sweetheart had evidently told 
him the hiding-place of the treasure. To get 
into an empty room and help himself was 
fatally simple, and our anxiety about our 
little boy — well known in the village — 
supplied a pretext of the most obvious kind. 7 ' 

Selby made an impulsive movement and 
crossed to where Marcia stood, "And all 
this was in your heart last night when 1 came 
in," he said, with feeling accentuated by 
remorse. " Can you ever forgive me ? n 

by Oc 


time. " You said an armed man would be a 
protection, and so he was. The jewels must 
have been lost if you had not been there. But 
for your arrival I should never have dreamed 
of taking them out of the chest, and Cripps 
could have carried them off at his leisure." 

Lady Eleanor was as extravagant in her 
gratitude as she was in most other things. 
When she heard that Duke Selby was a rich 
man and a celebrity, she invited him to her 
house-party, during which wonderful week 
Marcia and he found much opportunity for 
better acquaintance. 

At the end of his visit he informed her 
ladyship that there were valuables of more 
than one kind to be found at the Rectory, 
although she had considered it so unlikely a 
spot in which to search for them, and she 
delightedly ordered, for Marcia's wedding 
gift, a brooch and pendant of sapphires to 
remind her of the awful night during which 
she was the keeper or the King's gift. 
Original from 



lOME considerable time ago & 
paragraph in one of the papers 
alluded with becoming gravity 
to the birth of an extra- 
ordinary phenomenon in the 
shape of a baby who was born 
with twenty fingers on each hand and a full 
beard and moustache. The writer observed 
that, to see the child lying in its cradle, 
twirling its moustaches and stroking its b^ard 
with its forty fingers, was a " marvellous and 
appalling spectacle." This story recalls the 
famous legend of the birth of Merlin, who, 
in the course of two or three hours, grew into 
an aged man with a long beard, and began to 
abuse his mother in the roundest terms and 
with all the authority of a grandfather. 
Leaving this legend to keep company with 
the, of course, unimpeachable veracity of the 
more modern journalist, it is an undeniable 
fact that there are many babies who 

Digitized by GoOglC 

seem to have been born old. They are, as 
a rule, in spite of legendary lore, quite 
innocent of beard — they are often totally 
bald, and their tiny faces are lined with a 
thousand creases and wrinkles. They have 
great difficulty in keeping their noses clean — 
they display a general reluctance to sit up 
straight, and at this period of their lives 
people are apt to declare that babies are 
very uninteresting and very troublesome. 
Troublesome they may be — uninteresting 
they never are. 

I once made the acquaintance of a 
baby exactly two months old, and learned 
a great deal from him- His mother was 
a gay, pretty little woman of the world, 
who from her girlhood had entertained 
the fixed notion that babies were a bore, 
and I am sorry to say she was not at all 
gratified at having one of her own* She 
took no particular interest in him and left 
him almost entirely to the tender mercies of 
the nurse, and, startling as my assertion may 
seem, I am quite certain that the poor mite 
knew that his mother had very little love for 




him. The set sternness 
that his small red counte- 
nance would assume at 
the sight of her was some- 
thing extraordinary, while 
the encouraging dimples 
that appeared on the same 
little face for the benefit 
01 his nurse were equally 
surprising. He had a will 
01 his own, too. He 
roared violently when his 
mother touched him ; he 
was silent and happy in 
the careful arms of his 
father, who adored him. 
He actually squared his 
tiny fists at his mother, hut 
he cooed and chuckled 
musically to his nurse. I 
sat by his crib on one 
occasion, and he stared at 
me persistently for several 
minutes while I remained 
in a state of uncertainty 
as to whether the result 
would be a howl or a coo. 
It was neither. It was 
the funniest, quaintest little 
fat smile I ever saw on any 
face, young or old. It was 
a smile that said ; ** You'll 
do. YouVe not so bad as I expected you 
would be/' Encouraged by his manner, I 
stooped to kiss him — he graciously permitted 
me to take that liberty. He even made 
condescending efforts to pat my cheek— -but 
he soon tired of these, and lay still, with his 
eyes wide open, staring at me and thinking. 
Thinking ? Yes, certainly. Babies do 
think, and if only we could get at their 
thoughts we should possibly treat them with 
more respect. 

It is evident, for instance, that there are 
many babies who do not care for the sense- 
less efforts made by their mothers and nurses 
to amuse them. They show their contempt 
for such vain trifling in the most marked 
manner, either by refusing to notice the 
things offered for their attention, or by 
screams of the most determined resistance. 
Some American humorist relates the story 
of his having had to travel a long distance 
by rail in the same carriage with a baby who 
looked at least a hundred years old, and who 
stared at him with fixed and reproachful 
gravity, maintaining the most absolute silence. 
" I endured it," says the writer, M as long 
as I could, but I got the notion into my 

Digitized by G< 


head that the old baby expected me to 
say something. So I hazarded a polite 
remark, I observed, ' Chicky T chicky I ' 
in what I thought was a highly encouraging 
and amiable tone of voice. But, would 
you believe ft? The creature took offence, 
It glared at me with positive ferocity — its 
nose wanted wiping badly, but it didn't 
mind — it glared, I tell you, with ferocity 
and scorn, and turned its back on me. 
Its mother said it was just six months old, 
but I know better. That child was born 
before the Flood ! " 

Aged babies are far commoner than 
babyish babies. A child does not take much 
interest in toys or amusements till it is about 
a year and a half or two years old, " Bless 
its little heart ! n say the nurses of a 
promising child, "it begins to take notice 
already:" As if it had not been "taking 
notice " of everything from its very birth ! 
The curiosity displayed by babies is sur- 
prising, but once let their inquiries respect- 
ing any one subject be thoroughly ansvvered, 
they are satisfied. If a baby is once 
or twice amused by seeing a watch- 
chain and its appendages dangled before its 
Original from 




eyes, it is surely rather absurd to suppose 
that it will always be equally gratified by the 
same thing. It tires of the watch-chain, it 
tires of its coral and bells, it tires of its india- 
rubber squeaking doll, it often objects to its 
woolly baa-lamb on wheels, and sometimes 
its eyes assume a plaintive expression, as 
though it were mentally searching the whole 
universe for something new, and, failing in 
its search, would fain say with Solomon, if 
it could speak, "Vanity of vanities — all is 
vanity 1 There is nothing new under the 
sun ! " 

Spiteful nurses, wiio find their infant 
charges fractiously despising and discarding 
toys after a few minutes' trifling with them, 
are apt to say : " Drat the child ! * It's the 
most discontented little soul I ever met. It 
ain't pleased with nothing ! " 

Yet before laying too much blame on 
the almost universal discontentment of 
babies, might it not be well to reflect how 
very discontented are the grown -lip babies 
— the men and women of this world ? Are 
we ever contented except when we are fast 
asleep ? Do not we soon despise our 
theatres, our balls and other amusements, 
which, after all, are nothing but our woolly 
baa-lambs, our coral and bells, our squeak- 
ing toys? Depend upon it, we were dis- 
contented babies, we are discontented babies, 
and we always shall be. Why ? Because 
we inwardly feel that there is som^thiiig 
better than this world, and we reach towards 
that better thing with an infinite and tender 
yearning. In our pure religion, in our arts 
and sciences, in all our aspirations, it is to 
the far-off Unknown that we look. In 
moments of thoughtful and solitary musing 
most of us have felt that there was a time 
when we lived elsewhere than in this world, 
and were happier and wiser there than here. 
Why we have lost our happiness, why we are 
expelled from that Paradise, we cannot tell. 
But we feel that we shall know some day. 
In the meantime, here we are — fretful and 
easily wearied babies ourselves, and yet apt 
to be very irritable and captious if the 
youngest babies are fretful and tired too. 
Poor little things 1 They did not ask to be 
born. Perhaps if they could express their 
feelings they would say that their coming 
into the world was a mistake, so far as their 
desires were concerned ; they were never 
consulted, and if they had been they would 
not have come. 

No wonder so many of them look solemn 
and old. The way they are bounced up and 
down by energetic nurses, the number of 

times they have to listen \o " Sh — sh, sh — sh, 
sh ! " the ridiculous and unmeaning remarks 
that are made to them, the violent manner 
in which they are rolled about like puddings 
on a paste-board, to be washed, pinned, un- 
pinned, tied, and untied — these things are 
enough to make the youngest of babies look 
careworn. * . •• 

We grown-up babies do possess a few 
more advantages. For instance, we are able 
to dress and undress ourselves, and wash 
our faces when we like ; we can have our 
tempers, and no one says' "Sh — sh— sh. M 
We can even be a little bit restless and 
fretful without being suddenly seized and 
dandled up and down in the air, and we can 
devote a few minutes to silent meditation 
if we like without being rudely startled out 
of our thoughts by such an observation as 
" Wake up, chicky ! " or " Tootleums woo- 
tleums mustn't go to sleep 1 " 

I remember pitying the sorrows of a pretty, 
sad-faced baby who travelled, accompanied 
by its parents, in the same railway carriage 
with me from Brighton to Victoria Station. 
It was as quiet and meditative a little soul as 
ever took baby form. It had large, serious 
blue eyes, and its little mouth was shut in a 
thoughtful curve shaped like a small folded 
rosebud. It was a very solemn baby, and it 
regarded its parents with so fixed and earnest 
an expression that they became quite 
embarrassed. The mother, instead of sym- 
pathetically admiring the wistful little 
face of her child, seized it in the usual 
sudden fashion, dandled it, pinched it, 
tossed it up, poked it, patted it, and re- 
arranged its clothes. During these operations 
the father foolishly chirruped to it after the 
fashion of a somewhat hoarse sparrow, or as 
if he thought his offspring was a curious 
kind of bird which might, if chirped to 
properly, be soon expected to develop 
feathers. The chirruping and the tossing 
and the general distraction of the whole 
parental pantomime first bewildered the 
baby and then destroyed its peace and 
comfort entirely. Its little face puckered 
into a hundred severe wrinkles — it doubled 
up its tiny fists and looked defiant; and 
finally, feeling itself too weak to enter into a 
boxing-match with its parents, it had recourse 
to the only way it knew of making its misery 
known — namely, by breaking into a loud, 
shrill, ear-piercing scream. 

" Sh — sh, sh ! " said the silly mother, 
knocking it about more violently than ever. 

" Cheep, cheep ! naughty sing ! " said the 
father, dangling an eye-glass before it 

by Google 

II I I '.' I 1 1 




A LOUD, sllhrr.l., EAfl-FIEKCINC SERF A.M. 

Scream the second — eyeglass no go. 

" See the pretty tick-tick ! " said the 
mother, holding up a watch that no doubt 
the poor infant had seen till it was tired of it. 
" Listen— tick I tick ! " 

But the " tick-tick }t shared the same fate 
as the eye-glass, and when the family got out 
at Victoria the unhappy haby was still 
screaming at the top of its voice, though it 
had been perfectly' happy and quiet till its 
parents began to pull it about. 

When we think or the physical martyrdom 
the babies go through in the way of dress, 
and of the mental torture they must endure 
when they observe how thoroughly and hope- 
lessly they are always misunderstood, can we 
wonder at the look of age and care that 
settles so early on their infant brows ? We 
prate a good deal about our own troubles, 
but we may be sure the babies have theirs 
too, though they have to learn how to talk 
before they can bemoan themselves in the 
eloquent manner we do, when we get our 
dearest friend into a corner and say with 


feel, lg : " You 
cannot imagine 
how I have 
suffered I" as if 
our suffering were 
the most impor- 
tant thing in life, 
when, whatever it 
is, it can be but 
a small drop in 
the great ocean of 
human sorrow 
that surges around 
us in bitter waves 
every day. 

The troubles of 
a baby are as 
great in their way 
as the troubles of 
a full-grown man 
or woman. On 
the very earliest 
experiences of 
babyhood depend 
in a great measure 
the temperament 
displayed 1 11 
childhood. A dis- 
appointed baby 
will become a 
cynical child ; a 
baby that has been 
at all neglected 
will develop into 
a timid, nervous 
little mortal, afraid of shadows ; a baby 
that has been too much pinched and 
prodded will possibly become a bad- 
tempered, sullen, or suspicious child ; while 
no words can describe the fascinations and 
graces of the little darling who has been a 
happy baby, and whose life, from the very 
day of its birth, has been as if its mother had 
bathed it every morning in sunshine. But it 
is a rare thing to meet such a child. Little 
cynics, little satirists, little withered world- 
lings — all these are common enough. Only 
the other day an aged little woman of ten 
said to me with a sigh, " Ah, I am now at 
that time of life when I begin to wish I were 
a little girl a^ain ! Do you ever feel like 

I was so amazed that I could only look at 
the child in doubt as to whether she were in 
earnest or joking, but her face was pro- 
foundly serious and her eyes were full of 
regretful sadness. 

Another child of seven years old remarked 

once to me, with an air of mingled cunning 
Original from 




and worldly wisdom : "Of course, Mr. 
So-and-so cannot marry Miss X, because he 
has very little money— and it is so expensive 
to keep a wife ! " Comment upon this is 
needless^ but it is inexpressibly painful to 

effaced, though it may often seem that 
children have little or no remembrance of 
their babyhood. But even if they have no 
actual and distinct memory of what occurred 
to them then, the effect of what they suffered 


hear this kind of observation from such 
young lips. Let us, for Heaven's sake, try 
to let the children have their youth unspoilt ; 
and in order to attain to this desirable 
result it is well to remember that when 
they are babies they must not be teased or 
worried into a sorrowful sort of old age which 
creeps upon them before they can toddle. 
Grief soon imprints itself upon their young 
faces, daily vexations soon harass their little 
minds, and early impressions are never wholly 

or enjoyed during the first period of their 
existence must have had weight in the forma- 
tion of their characters. It is from the very 
first day of their lives that happy influences 
must begin, otherwise the sad and unnatural 
spectacle of an aged baby will become so 
common that we shall cease to consider it 
unnatural, and we shall make up our 
melancholy minds that there is not only 
41 nothing new under the sun," but also 
nothing young. 

by Google 

Original from 



T"",» "^jTn^JHIi • ".. - ^» 1 



A Story by Max Pemberton. 


HE young soldier had been 
sleeping at the heat of the 
day, but his slumber was 
broken and restless, and he 
started up at length as though 
a hand had touched him upon 
the shoulder and justice had whispered in 
his ear. All about him the trees stirred to 
a kindly breeze of summer. A burning sun 
poured down its searching rays upon the 
shimmering canopy which the great forest of 
Fontainebleau uplifted. The sward looked 
deliciously cool and inviting at such an hour, 
but Captain Beauregard, for such was the 
soldier's name, had no eyes for it. 

For five days now the gendarmes had 
hunted him through the forest. Yesterday 
at sundown a charcoal-burner warned him 
that the hussars were beating the under- 
growth — he understood that he had not 
many hours of liberty before him; and 
defiant, resourceful, determined still, he threw 
himself full length upon the ground and 
listened for any sbunds which should tell him 
of pursuit. A well-trained ear assured him 
that he had not been mistaken. Somewhere 
in the woods a squadron of horsemen followed 
him. He could hear the brushwood crack- 
ling and the tread of hoofs. Flight was his 
only resource here, and he fled headlong, 
skirting the wood, which bordered a great 
heath, and watchful for the opportunity 
which courage would find. 

It was a strange occupation for an inno- 
cent man — perhaps the strangest he could 
have named ; but Philip Beauregard had 
known perfectly well what he was doing 
when he fled from Paris to save his father's 
liberty ; and every day upon which he could 
cheat the soldiers of the Republic was so 
much time gained for one dearer to him than 
anything in life. Let time help him, and the 
old Chevalier, his father, whom a driven 
Government accused of despoiling the War 
Office of its documents, would certainly find 
a safe haven in free England. He, Philip, 
was perfectly convinced that his father was 
innocent ; his own flight from Pari ; had 
turned suspicion from the older man, and all 
the world had said, " There is the traitor ! " 
If the scheme were rash and doomed to 
failure, it had at least affection for its excuse. 
"I will save my father from the shame," 

Vol. xxvii.— 86. 

Philip said, and in that for the day h? had 

There had been a hue and cry for him 
directly it was known that he had fled from 
Paris, though he heard little of it in the wilds 
of the great forest of Fontainebleau. From 
time to time he had bought a paper in a 
village or read of himself as he ate his break- 
fast at a tumble-down inn. Whatever road 
the authorities believed him to have taken, 
Fontainebleau did not at first occur to them ; 
and a week of the wild, roaming life almost 
deceived him to the belief that his retreat was 

Then came the night when a dark-eyed 
girl at an auberge had spoken of gendarmes 
beating the thickets. Philip took instantly 
to the darkest places of the woods and lived 
henceforth like a hunted animal. By-and-by, 
he said, he would return to Paris and laugh at 
them all. By then, it might be, his father 
would be able to produce those proofs of his 
innocence which he declared to be in 

For Philip Beauregard the chase became 
the finest excitement of his life. The silence 
and magnificent solitudes of the forest, the 
little caves he made himself for sleep and 
rest — here was the true existence, here with 
Nature and her glorious light and shade. 

Then came the news of the gendarmes. 
They were beating the thickets for him, and 
had called a squadron of hussars to their aid. 
Nature had nothing to say to such an un- 
pleasant interruption. Nay, Philip forgot 
his philosophy and fled like a hare. Thrice 
within a single day a trooper passed him so 
closely in the undergrowth that he could 
have put a hand upon his stirrup-iron. He 
knew no sleep that was not broken by a 
suspicious ear, ever ready for the alarm 
which a footfall might sound. Had it been 
for any other in the world but his father, 
Philip would have tired speedily of a game so 
hazardous. But the honour of his home 
was at stake and he believed that delay 
would save it. 

Now, he had chosen the hollowed trunk 
of a great chestnut tree for his hut upon this 
day of September, when the cavalry started 
him up and he ran for very life toward a 
landmark of the forest known as the " Weep- 
ing Rock." This was a wild enough place, 
rocky and full of pits. He had always deter- 




mined that the pits should be his refuge from 
any horsemen who pursued him, and his 
object was to skirt the wood which had con- 
cealed him and then to strike the path 
through a neighbouring thicket by which he 
might reach the rock. 

In this design he was unhappily frustrated 
by a glimpse of a horseman threading the 
forest upon his 
left hand in the 
direction in 
which he was 
going ; and it 
quickly became 
apparent to him 
that the hussars 
had closed in 
upon him from 
three sides and 
that his only way 
lay across the 
open heat h, 
where detection 
seemed assured. 
Hesitation would 
have been fatal 
alike to this 
hopeless plan 
and to any other 
he might have 
conceived ; and 
so Philip, casting 
one quick look 
about him to be 
sure that he was 
not already de- 
tected, plunged 
boldly into the 
broom and tan- 
gled grass of the 
heath and began 
to worm through 
it upon all fours 
like a fox that is 
creeping away 
from the hounds. 
When he had 
progressed some 
thirty or forty yards he lay all in his length 
in the thick of a clump of osiers, and t cover- 
ing himself as he might with the matted 
grass, lie cast the die to Fortune and waited 
for the end. - 

From the distance he could hear the 
soldiers halloaing to each other in the wood. 
A bugle summoned the laggards to the trot — 
that would be when they had reached the 
open of the sward, he thought ; and from 
that instant he counted the seconds mechani- 

Digitized by tjOOglC 

cally with his lips, and said that in ten, 
twenty, thirty, a horseman would spy him out 
and the prick of a sword start him from his 
hiding-place. Here, however, he was quite 
wrong ; and when a good quarter of an hour 
passed and none came near him, he ventured 
to sit up and look about him. To his astonish- 
ment, he could not espy so much as a 

single trooper, 
The squadron, 
looking out over 
the open heath 
and observing 
nothing but the 
melancholy grass 
and the clump of 
broom, preferred 
to believe that 
the object of 
their search was 
still in thewoods. 
So they drew 
together toward 
the " Weeping 
Rock," and, for 
the moment, 
Philip might 
breathe again. 

He had been 
wearing a dark 
grey tweed suit 
and a felt hat 
when he left 
Paris ; but the 
hat had been 
replaced by a 
wood m a ris cap 
since he arrived 
at Fontaine- 
bleau, and the 
grey cloth of the 
coat was by this 
time sadly 
stained by the 
dust. A lover of 
spruceness and 
very particular as 
to his personal 
appearance, Philip began to wonder how he 
would look if this sort of thing went on. 
Since there were hussars in the forest the 
inns about would be dangerous places for 
him. True, he might dine with a charcoal- 
burner and breakfast at an hospitable farm- 
house ; but if his description were widely 
circulated, any ruffian might knock him on 
the head for the sake of the reward, Still, a 
man must dine somewhere, and if he could 
not dine at least he must wash. 





Philip remembered that there was a burn 
at the farther side of the heath — a little 
dancing burn with a tiny cascade of its own — 
and a glen of the thicket which no horseman 
could enter. The cavalry he believed to 
have gone in the direction of the " Weeping 
Rock," which lay a mile at least behind him* 
and, this argument giving him courage, he set 
to work to worm his way across the desolate 
moodand, crawling upon all fours until his 
arms ached intolerably and his back seemed 
to be broken. 

When he gained the woods upon the 
farther side he spent a good quarter of an 
hour stamping about and using those excla- 
mations by which men seek to bring the 
blood coursing in their veins again* Then 
he set off at a long, swinging stride to find 
his arbour by the burn. 
But he was still cautious 
and wary, and he ap- 
proached thy glen from 
the height of its little cliff, 
lying flat upon the grass 
and dragging himself to 
its edge. In this position 
he made the great dis- 
covery : the glen already 
had an occupant. 

He had looked for a 
woodlander, perhaps for 
charcoal-burners drawing 
water \ or it even might 
be a troop of hussars rest- 
ing. What he saw was a 
girl of eighteen years of 
age lying her length upon 
the soft grass and singing 
to herself a laughing echo 
song which the woodfc 
gave back in dulcet melo- 
dies. That she was not a 
girl of the people her trim 
black dress bore witness, 
It had the white collars 
and cuffs, the methodical 
primness of the boarding- 
school ; and Philip re- 
membered instantly that 
there was a little com- 
munity of English ladies 
who had a chalet in this quarter of the forest 
and there received a select dozen of English 
and French pupils. 

11 Echo," as he immediately christened the 
little lady of the glen, was evidently one of 
the pupils at the school j and fearing nothing 
from her — nay, leaping at some hope of 
the meeting — he climbed quickly down the 

little cliff and saluted her with a soldier's 

£t Mademoiselle, I beseech you have pity 
upon a soldier in misfortune," 

Now Echo, surprised and terrified by the 
strange voice and the sudden appearance of 
"man," whom the good sisters had taught 
her to regard as an enemy, sprang to her feet 
with a little cry and looked wildly about her, 
as though Providence would immediately 
provide her with a pair of stairs up which she 
might run and a door at the top of them 
which she might shut. Providence doing 
nothing of the kind, and it being plain 
that " man " must either be faced or the 
foam i fig bum be forded, Echo stood trem- 
bling and afraid while Philip Beauregard t 
drawing yet nearer, repeated his profound 

U1HLOF fclCiHTKKS ¥■**•> 

bow and uttered anew his piteous appeal for 

" Mademoiselle, I am in great distress. 
Innocent, I have yet to appear guilty for 
another's sake, Will you permit me to " 

He stammered, being a little uncertain erf 
that which he should request Echo to do. 
She, on hQf ipifty utterly bewildered and yet 




strangely attracted by his handsome face, 
had made up a dozen speeches in poor 
French with which to answer him. But a 
strange language failed her in the moment of 
perplexity ; she could say but this at last : — 

"I am English — English, monsieur — an 
English girl from London, which is in 

She thought afterwards that there was, 
perhaps, no special necessity to tell such a 
handsome man, and one obviously so well 
educated, that London was in England. 
But it all came out of her nervousness ; and 
when the stranger did not resent it — nay, 
when he began to speak to her in English as 
pure and good as her own — her astonishment 
and pleasure were unbounded. 

" Mademoiselle," he said, " I should have 
seen it at once. We have no such faces as 
yours in France — none with such, do you 
not say rosy cheeks in English? Yes, I 
surprise you, but I was educated at 
Beaument, mademoiselle — the college near 
Windsor. My father wished me to learn 
your terrible language. I am grateful to 
him. Until ten days ago I would have said 
that it had helped me in the army. I can- 
not say the same to-day, young lady, because 
— well, the army denies my acquaintance." 

She stared at him with pretty blue eyes 
very wide open. 

"The army denies your acquaintance? 
You have done something wrong, then ? " 

He smiled at her pretty simplicity. 

" You are with the Sisters Evelyn at the 
English school, I suppose?" he said.. 
"Perhaps you have seen the hussars your- 
self, mademoiselle? Gervex — the rogue 
Gervex — would be in command ; a very little 
man, with a very red moustache. Oh, he 
is so fond of that moustache, is my friend 
Gervex. You would recognise him at once 
if you had seen him." 

His look searched her face anxiously. He 
perceived that she flushed at the name 

"Yes, I have often seen him," she said, 
tearing many blades of grass with her little 
white fingers ; " he has been at Fontainebleau 
for more than a year ; he waits in the woods 
sometimes, but I run — oh, yes, I run like a 
little kitten. Sister Gertrude, you know, 
thinks that there is no one but the country 
people about here. If I told her that your 
friend Captain Gervex waited for me she 
would die. But, of course, you know him, 
and he may have spoken to you about me," 
she added, looking up suddenly, as though a 
little afraid of her own confession. 

Philip shook his head sadly. 

" Captain Gervex has been to the school ? " 
he asked her. She nodded " Yes." 

" He has been twice since Sunday. I was 
in the music-room for my practice, and he 
peeped round the door and spoke to me. He 
came again next morning and was a long time 
with the sisters. They say there is a convict 
escaped from prison — Captain Gervex wanted 
to look under the beds for him. Don't you 
think he is very ridiculous to come to the 
school, monsieur ? I am sure that you do if 
you are a soldier." 

Philip coloured a little at her question. 
How delightfully childish she was 1 How 
different in this frank confidence from the 
simpering, silent misses of France, waiting 
for marriage to loose their tongues ! 

" It is very ridiculous, as you say, young 
lady," he rejoined, when he had thought 
upon it a moment. " Especially since we 
know that this convict is not in the school 
at all, but here by your side at the glen of 

He waited to see the effect of his w r ords. 
Echo turned very pale ; but she had a lot of 
common sense of her own, and when she 
had stared at him for some minutes in 
silence she presently said, emphatically : — 

" I don't believe it. You are not a 
convict, and Captain Gervex is not asking 
for you. # You are only joking with me, and 
it isn't clever." 

He sat up and began to finger the grass 
as she was doing. It was odd, he thought, 
that the very first person in all the world to 
whom he told his story should be this blue- 
eyed, flaxen-haired English girl. 

"Listen," he said. "There is an officer of 
chasseurs in Paris whose father is in great 
trouble. He has been accused of betraying 
his employers and stealing the documents of 
the Government. While he has his liberty 
it may be possible for him to prove his 
innocence. This man's son, wishing to gain 
time for his father, ran away from Paris that 
people might think him guilty of the crime. 
And now he is in the glen of Franchard, so 
hungry, so tired, so desperate, mademoiselle, 
that, but for his father's sake, he would give 
himself up to the soldiers and have done with 
it. Do you understand the little parable? 
Will you run away to Captain Gervex now 
and tell him where I am to be found ? " 

Echo did not answer for quite a long time. 
The blue eyes looked deep down into his 
own. She was evidently using all the good 
wits she had— and that was no inconsiderable 




" Vou know that I will not ! " she exclaimed, 
presently ; "it was foolish to say so." 

She still continued to gaze at him, and 
then she went on ; — 

"I can see that you are telling me the 
truth j you are innocent. How dreadful it 
must be to be innocent and afraid of people I " 

"It is much worse to be hungry," Philip 
said, sadly. 

Hungry ! He was hungry — she had for- 
gotten that. A woman's pity came quickly 
to her aid. She sprang to her feet and 
wrestled with so grave a problem. 

u I must re- 
turn at sun- 
down/' she said, 
thoughtfully — 
"the sisters 
allow us to be 
out for an hour. 
I come here be- 
cause I can hide 
myself — yes, 
they say that 
women cannot 
keep a secret, 
but I can keep 
mine, Monsieur 
Philip. I hide 
up there by the 
cascade. The 
little cave h my 
r o o m — y o u 
climb up by the 
trees, but must 
be careful. If I 
go now I can 
bring you some- 
thing to eat. Of 
course you are 
hungry, and I 
am sorry." 

He tried to 
thank her, but 
somehow her 
childish ardour 
and interest brought a sob 
into hi^voice. Philip had 
suffered more than he would have confessed 
during those days in Fontainebleau. He 
could not thank Echo—and she, pointing 
upward to the cascade, broke away from him 
with a laugh, and as she went she cried, with 
no sense of poetry at all : — 

" ShaWt I catch it, that's all ! " 


Echo had said that the way up to her 
cave was difficult, and Philip found it so. 

Half-way up toward the summit the cliff 
broke into a ledge, and here —overhung 
with a trellis of leaves and half hidden by a 
giant laburnum — was a hiding-place such as 
Philip had dreamed of often, but had not 
found in all his wanderings through the 
forest* Not only had Nature carved and 
sheltered this little grotto, but a young girl's 
hand had decked it out with many a dainty 
ornament Her sketches hung upon its 
rocky walls, her mandoline displayed its 
gaudy ribbons from a splendid shelf, her 
books were piled up on the deck-chair which 

stood in the sun- 
light by the door. 
More precious 
than these in 
Philip's eyes, 
however, were 
the teacups and 
the littleoil-stove 
which went with 
them. The riches 
of the Indies 
could not have 
appeared a 
greater treasure 
in his eves. 

w A 'kettle ! " 
he cried, hold- 
ing it up to the 
sunlight as 
though it had 
been a diamond 
— "a kettle, 
by all the 
Now s ifthere 
should be 
any oil in her 

stove '* 

There was 
oil in her 
stove and a 
good pinch 
of tea in a 
little Japan- 
ese box on 
the shelf. Philip held the kettle out to the 
clear, sparkling waters of the cascade and 
then sat down to watch the water boil. 
England had taught him how to make a cup 
of tea, and he declared that this particular 
tea was very nectar. 

The hours of the afternoon seemed long- 
Philip would have slept under ordinary cir- 
cumstances, but somehow sleep did not come 
to him ; apd while he tried to think of many 
POMS* WiSmf able to think only 


things, h^ 




of Echo. How pretty she was — how quick 
and sensible ! And Gervex wanted to marry 
her ; of course the scoundrel did, or said so, 
which was by no means the same thing, 
Philip thought it curious that he should 
have made a friend of the very one person 
in all the world who could throw Gervex off 
the scent. Never for a moment did he doubt 
Echo- He was as sure she would come back 
to him as he was of the sun's setting and of 
its rising again to-morrow. She would come 
back and bring him food. He had said this 
about a thousand times when he heard the 
twigs snapping below him and then, her arms 
hopelessly full and her hair streaming wild 
behind her, he saw Echo herself creeping 
through the bushes by another path alto- 
gether from that which he had taken. 

" Such an escape ! " she cried, looking up 
at him with laughing eyes. He believed 
that she spoke of the soldiers, and his face 
momentarily blanched, 

" You have seen Gervex, then ? n 

" No, no ; I mean from the sisters. 
Jacquette let me out of the kitchen, I told 
her It was to help a poor blind beggar, and 
she laughed/' 

He laughed also, 

"She has helped poor blind 
beggars herself, perhaps. Well, 
that is awfully good of you. Echo, 
I quite thought you had seen 

" Oh, I never wish to see him 
again, monsieur." 

"Just ' Philip,' please, and not 
1 monsieur/ And tell me that 
your real name is Echo — Pm 
sure it must be." 

" I would much sooner tell you 
to eat. Look, here is a whole 
chicken, and such a cake, mon- 
sieur — no, Philip, then. I stole 
it from the cook after I had given 
him the paper to read. He says 
that he's awfully fond of crime, so 
he T ll forgive me. Now, won't you 
have your dinner? And please 
don't look at me like that/' 

Philip obeyed her humbly. He 
had fasted since the previous even- 
ing, and, as he put it, was as 
voracious as a pike. Never had 
bread appeared whiter to his eyes, 
a chicken so delicious, or a cake 
so tasty. There were scarcely 
decent crumbs when he had done. 

Echo was quite satisfied, and 
she packed the straw basket with 

the satisfaction of a little housewife who has 
made a good bargain. 

" I must go at once," she said, decisively, 
as though the idea had just occurred to her, 
u If I can come again very, very early I will. 
Perhaps we were wrong to eat it all up ; we 
may have no breakfast." 

Philip, laughing at her drollery, took a 
little white hand in his and kissed it 

" There is still one dish left, you see," he 
said, naively, u Never mind, Echo, we will 
breakfast somehow. Remember that I shall 
count the hours ; and I have your books, 
your own books, to devour also." 

She snatched her hand away and went 
leaping down the path, throwing him a kiss 
as she went. For a look from such eyes 
Philip Beauregard would have faced all the 
hussars in Europe, So he watched her as 
her dainty ankles turned now upon this rock, 
now upon that. At the bottom of the glen 
she made as though to wheel about and send 
another message up to him ; but, startled 
suddenly by some object which Philip could 
not see, she stood like a statue, pale and 
afraid. The next instant Captain Gervex 
came down the path and saluted her. She 

tet with "cap 


CBSITEK CAME DOi»air«(*l1*Vir<MBf1S*l.UTlD HBfc." 




heard him without protest, though from time 
to time she twisted the straw basket in her 
hands ? while Philip, crouching flat upon the 
ledge, did not dare to raise even a hand. 
Why did not Gervex look up? he asked 
himself. All would have been known had 
he done so, the great suspense over for good 
and all. The answer to this riddle was as 
old as the story of love, Gervex was devour- 
ing Echo with his eyes* He tried to snatch 
her hand by-and-by ; but she, like one 
released from a spell, darted away at an 
incredible speed and left him, foolish and 
baffled, at the burn's edge. His close regard, 
following every step she took through the 
brake, gave Philip his opportunity. He 
slipped back into the grotto and let the trellis 
of leaves close 
about its door* 

" If Gervex 
should discover 
me it will not be 
good for little 
Echo/' he said 
to himself, very 
thoughtfu lly. 
For Philip had 
known many 
women in his 
life, and here he 
believed that he 
had found one 
who would sacri- 
fice all that she 
had held dear in 
life rather than 
betray the man 
who trusted her, 


Echo did not 
come in the 
early morning 
as she had pro- 
mised, nor did 
noon bring any 
news of her. 
Philip ventured 
often to the 
cliffs edge to 
peer into the glen below ; but his restless 
ears caught nothing but the murmur of the 
bum- The day was gloriously fine, as all the 
days of September had been. There came 
from afar the joyous note of bells* and once or 
twice the merry, laughing voices of foresters. 
But no human thing trod the glen's path ; 
and as the hours passed and the sun mounted 
in the heavens and began to sink again, 


Philip understood that Echo could not 

" She is watched," he said ; or, again, " She 
has seen someone about the glen ; it is not 
safe to come.' 1 

This conviction left Philip in. the gloomiest 
mood. Sometimes he wished that Gervex's 
men would find him and make an end of it. 
He was of another opinion altogether by the 
evening, however, for Echo came as soon as 
it was dark, and her basket weighed even 
more than it did yesterday. 

"We must not talk," she said, quickly. 
" Gervex was at the school this morning, I 
passed the soldiers as I came here ; they are 
in the wood of Franchard. Please to empty 
the basket and give it to me back. Jerome 

would never for- 
give me if I lost 
his basket." 

She was help- 
i ng him to 
spread out her 
treasures while 
she talked, and 
silently and me- 
thodically she 
arranged the 
ittle dish of 
cold cutlets, the 
slices of tongue, 
the salad, the 
great yard of 
bread, and the 
dainty ingot of 
butter upon her 
table. Philip 
an unusual 
agitation of 
manner, a 
with him 
which had 
not been 
y es t erday . H e conn ect ed 
it in some way with 
Gervex and spoke out 
freely to her about it. 
"What did that man say to you last 
night ? " he asked, without excuse. 

Echo, keeping her eyes upon the treasures, 
with a forced little laugh replied : — 

" He says that he intends to write to my 
friends in England*" 

"About what, Echo? Why should he 
write to them?" . , 

" Oh. well— oerhaps to ask my intentions. 



But you don't understand that in English, do, 
you ? " 

"Perfectly. Has the fellow been making 
love to you ? * 

"All you soldiers do. Now, you know 
that it is true." 

Philip twirled his moustache angrily. 

" If he speaks to you again I will knock 
him down," he said. 

"You must not think about me/ 1 she said, 
though the colour was mounting to her neck 
and cheeks, and her hands trembled upon 
the dishes. " Please eat your supper at once ; 
there's nine o'clock striking. What shall I say 
if the sisters 
catch me ? H 

Philip did not 
know what she 
would say. He 
sat there, angry 
and chagrined, 
to remember 
how little his 
threat was worth. 
Gcrvex held the 
assuredly, and 
would play on 
the slightest pro- 
vocation. He, 
Philip, might 
threaten as much 
as he pleased, 
but his frit hers 
liberty might be 
the price of a 
single w o r d 
spoken indis- 
creetly. Echo, 
perhaps, under- 
stood what was 
in his mind. She 
broke away from 
him without any 
bright word of 
farewell, and her 
manner was strangely 

" I will come to - 
morrow, very, very early/' she said 
as she went. And then she added, 
as the careful little housekeeper 
she was, " If there was anything 
left it would do for breakfast, wouldn't it?" 

He tried to laugh. 

" How good you are to me ! " he said. 

"No, no; I am good to myself, Monsieur 
Philip. If you knew how exciting it was to 
let yourself from a window by the bed- 

clothes I But of course you don't ; they 
never think of such things in Paris." 

"Ah, that cursed Paris!" he cried, and a 
dark smile crossed his face. 

"And yet you are thinking always how 
you may return there. Is it not so, Monsieur 
Philip ? " 

He would not deny it. 
" I would give my fortune if I could return 
there this night," he said. "Then I should 
be free to tell my secrets to little Echo." 

" But you would have to tell them to- 
morrow. Think how late it is ! And you have 
not even begun your supper. Ingrate, I will 

send old Susan, 
the maid, in the 

He was about 
to tell her that 
Susan would find 
his dead body 
under the leaves 
when some 
sound from 
below ma*de 
them both start 
and look down 
eagerly toward 
the glen. The 
night had fallen 
still and clear— 
a great gulden 
moon floated 
above the forest 
as a lamp guid- 
ing the steps of 
lovers in their 
walks. The 
same clear light 
showed them the 
figure of Captain 
Gen ex resting at 
the stream's edge 
like one who has 
named a rendez- 
vous. They knew 
then that he had 
discovered them 
— that all was 
lost and their 
dream at an 

"Stay here," 
Philip said, as he tried to catch her hand. 

She did not seem to hear him. Her 
heart beat wildly and a look of terror came 
to her eyes. Little Echo, in that, the supreme 
moment of her life, had already made up her 
mind Original from 





" I will come to-morrow," she whispered, 
like one in a dream ; " yes, yes, I can save 
you, Monsieur Philip. Please do not touch 
me. I know a path and he will not find it. 
Hush ! he is looking up." 

Philip crouched instinctively, and when he 
dared to raise his head again Echo was gone. 
What she meant to do, how she would escape 
that evil sentinel, he could not imagine. 
Heavy reproaches came to trouble him. Why 
had he let her go? Was it not his plain 
duty to stand at her side, let the danger be 
what it might ? If Gervex had learned her 
secret, then he would not fail to exact a 
heavy price for it. He, Philip, had behaved 
like a coward — rage, jealousy, fear were all 
there to taunt him. And yet he understood 
that one step into the open might undo all 
that he had striven for during the terrible 
days at Fontainebleau. 

Should this Gervex really press Echo for 
an answer to his false protestations of love, 
it might even be that she would promise to 
become his wife to save the man who had 
trusted her so greatly. Philip was tortured 
by the doubt, swayed by self-reproach, in- 
capable of any resolution* Every instant of 
doubt and delay added to his frenzy. All 
cowardice deserted him at last, and blindly, 
madly, fearlessly, he climbed down to the 
glen and began his quest of her. To-morrow, 
he said, he would lie in a prison at Paris. 
Well, what mattered it if Echo were safe ? 

It was in his mind that she would have 
taken the forest path which led to the gates 
of the school kept by the Sisters Evelyn. He 
could imagine that Gervex would pursue her 
upon this path, terrifying her with his threats 
and renewing his importunities. Just at 
heart he admitted that this man might love 
Echo as he loved her ; nevertheless, a raging 
jealousy, a mad desire to hear her voice 
again and to touch her hand, sent him head- 
long through the thickets. 

For quite a long while no human sound 
but his own heavy footsteps upon the 
sward reached his ears. There were night 
birds in the thicket and they mocked 
him with .their music. Prudence had long 
since deserted him, when h$ stumbled 
blindly upon a camp of the very hussars 
who were seeking him. In reply to his 
question the sentry at the camp, too in- 
credulous to think that here was the man 
they sought, told him that Captain Gervex 
had gone up to the English school. Philip 
ran from him wildly, without waiting to thank 
him. If he were too late, he said, Echo might 
already have given the promise. He believed 

VoL xxviL— 37. 

that she would consent even to become 
Gervex's wife if thereby she could save him. 
How should his own safety count against 
such a chance as this ? 

He had ceased to run by this "time ; and, 
hot and breathless, he peered into every glen, 
searched with his eyes the mconlit glades, 
and listened intently for the sound of her 
voice. Twice a false note sounded in the brake 
drew him from the straight road on a vain 
errand. He began to think that Echo had 
not returned to the school at all, and was about 
to retrace his steps when, without any warning, 
she emerged full into the moonlight fronj a 
little path upon his left hand, and he saw 
that she was alone. Philip stood at this like 
t)ne who has made a fatal blunder and is 
about to pay the price of it. Why had he 
not trusted her cleverness ? He was asking 
himself as much when a man sprang out of 
the brake by Echo's side and confronted her 
threateningly. At this all Philip's reason 
went to the winds, and leaping across the 
sward he struck at the man savagely and laid 
him his length upon the grass. 

It was a mad moment and he lived 
through it madly. Of the scene about him 
he had little consciousness. He saw but the 
dark face before him as the man rose, and 
he struck at it again and again. When 
troopers, who had followed him from the 
camp, flung themselves upon him and tried 
to drag him down, he seemed to have the 
strength of ten men. He flung them off* 
again and again ; little Echo's wild cry was his 
watchword; strong arms were holding him 
down and savage oaths buzzed in his ears.. 
And then came the silence of the forest 
and men walking stubbornly by his side, 
and the knowledge that his days of liberty 
had run, and that to-morrow Paris would 
know of his arrest. Yes, little Echo was 
alone now. Philip did not believe that he 
would ever see her again. 

The night which followed seemed like 
one of dream - pictures to this man who 
had suffered so much in the name of honour. 
He recollected appearing before the colonel 
in camp; he could tell you of a carriage 
driving over the forest road, of odd hamlets 
buried in profound darkness ; then of a town 
going to bed. The midnight mail which 
carried him to Paris was no more than a roar 
of rolling wheels. He alighted at the 
Eastern station, and those with him sum- 
moned a fiacre and bade the driver go to the 
Ministry of War. The great city with her 
brightly -lighted streets, the swift -flowing 
Seine, the open cath, the black throngs of 



when the fiacre 
messengers were 


people, the closed shops, the clear-sounding 
bells awoke him in the end as from a heavy 
sleep, He asked the soldiers whither they 
took htm. They answered that he would 
soon discover. 

All was closed at the Ministry of War 
drove up ; but bustling 
soon awakened, lamps 
lighted, and sleepy officials su m m on ed . 
Philip would have said that they kept him 
waiting the half of a lifetime in the musty 
reception-room by the porter's door. Alone 
there, he could reflect upon the folly of the 
night; but with even greater bitterness upon 
the price that to-morrow must pay for it. 
They would banish him to the Isles, he said. 
Ah, there was his dream of little Echo ! And 
she would return to England — she would 
marry, perhaps, and have children. Philip 
ground the stone with his heel and uttered 
his thoughts aloud in the bitterness of this 
regret. But he was much astonished when 
5Qmeone answered him, and looking up he 

perceived before him the 
pleasant face of one whom 
he knew to hold high office 
at the Ministry. 

** Monsieur le Comte ! * he 
cried, gladly, u I am fortu- 
nate, then," 

The man thus addressed 
slapped him gaily upon the 
shoulder — then he held out 
his hand, 

"I was at the Jockev 
Club," he said; "but I 
came at once for a brave 
man*? sake. Do you know, 
sir, that you have been ab- 
sent from Paris without your 
co loners leave ? " 

Philip was almost too asto- 
nished to speak. What did 
this friendliness mean ? Why 
was no mention made of the 
charge against him ? 

*' Forgive me," he said, " It 
is not so, Count, I had a 
fortnight's leave of absence 
before I left for Fontaine- 

" Ah ! so much the better, 
though, in any case, Paris 
would have forbidden us to 
touch you. Do you not know 
that you are a hero, my 
friend ? Yes ; your father, the 
Chevalier, returned from Eng- 
land yesterday- He brought 
the proofs of his innocence in his hand," 

Philip said, "Thank Heaven ! " The Count 
caught him suddenly in his strong arms. He 
knew and understood. 

" May every father find such a son 1 " he 

Three days afterwards, in the glen of 
Franchard, Philip found little Echo again. 
He caught her unawares when she was 
playing Narcissus by the lazy pool. Her 
frightened cry, the laugh upon it, surprise, 
delight, and more than delight in her pretty 
eyes, were the reward for all that Fontaine - 
bleau had cost him, 

t4 I am going to England," he said, 
earnestly. I( I am going to your people, 

She hid her rosy face from him. And 
when she escaped him at last, and ran away 
like a startled deer to the gate-house of her 
school, her lips were still warm with the kisses 


Artists Types of Beauty. 

r v ' Pfe 

X the biography of the late 
Sir John Millais we read that 
on one occasion at the Royal 
Academy he looked in vain 
through one room for some- 
thing harmonizing with his 

own idea of female 
beauty. At last he 
turned to a brother 
Academician and 
said : "After all, poor 
fellows, perhaps they 
haven't any pretty 
girls amongst their 
ac quaint ance I " Vet 
beyond question^ 
many of these artists 
really thought, as 
Rubens and the 
early Italian and 
Dutch masters 
thought, that they 
were transcribing the 
very form and essence 
of female loveliness . 

It has been said 
that every painter 
observes a beautiful 
woman through a 
special spiritual lens 
of his own. By this 
means she becomes 
endowed in his mind 
with qualities to which 
he himself is partial 
— or, in Rossetti's 
words* " a beautiful 
woman, plus his own 
prejudices and aspira 

Doubtless, if the 
truth were known, 
in the majority of 
instances it is the 
artist's partiality for 
one woman in the 
flesh that is respon- 
sible for the female 
type he perpetuates 
on canvas, In other 

cases it is the type of beauty prevalent 
in his day, for we all know each age has 
its own fashionable standard to which the 
ladies strive to attain. Thus in the fifteenth 

xiufi nurnuvLU 


century in Italy there was the u Botticelli 
girl," just as in the twentieth in America theft* 
is the "Gibson girl," and nobody who studies 
them can deny that each, if not actually 
representative of a large class, delineates the 
ideal of the community generally. 

Botticelli's women 
existed — perhaps the 
original model was 
the Signora Botti- 
celli herself — but they 
must then have 
been rare in Italy. 
In the. painter's 
" Spring " we see a 
cluster of them, of 
which the figure of 
Flora herewith re- 
produced is an ex- 
ample* They are 
tall, graceful, blonde 
wo men j but they are 
not to our eyes beauti- 
ful Their expression 
is hard, and they 
smile — as the Scot is 
said to joke — with 
difficulty. Again, the 
cheek - bones of all 
Botticelli's women are 
too high, the eyes 
too narrow, and the 
chins too pointed. 
Nevertheless, they are 
the true ancestresses 
of our modern 
Burne - Jones women, 
as we shall see later 
on, Meanwhile, what 
a gulf of sentiment 
and character and 
ideality separated 
Botticelli's women 
from the Rubens 
woman ! 

Nothing is stranger 
to the average man 
nowadays than how 
Rubens ever came 
to paint such great, 
buxom wenches and believe them beauti- 
ful. That they have charms may be 
admitted, HMrt; n tfl fiteW them "Venus," 
p|^^ AN " Cleopatra" 


M.iW.X IN "SI'HIN'C. 1 * 






seems almost, if nut quite, ludicrous. 
Yet as such they appeared far mure 
conventional to our great-grandfathers, 
as anybody may verify by glancing at 
the portraits of the ladies of Charles 
IL's Court, while the cartoons of Row- 
landson and Gillray show that emhon- 
ptriitt was not considered by any means 
a drawback amongst the ladies of a 
hundred years ago. 

The original of the " Rubens woman," 
of whom there are many hundred ex- 
amples scattered through the picture 
galleries of Europe, was, of course, the 
painter's first wife, Elizabeth Brandt, and 
afterwards her niece, Helena Fourment, 
whom he espoused on becoming a 
widower. Other of the old masters 
— such as Leonardo da Vinci, Cor- 
reggio, and Murillo — painted a type 
of woman which is easily recognisable 
as belonging wholly to them, but 
none are so distinct as theHdAjH 

we have described. It is 
not until we come to Jean- 
Baptiste Greuze (1725- 
1805) that we note the 
masterly founder of a 
thoroughly different type 
from all that preceded it. 
This is the " Greuze girl/' 
of which there are so many 
examples in the Wallace 
Collection, Greuze did 
not invent her. Every- 
thing done by an artist 
must have an original — ■ 
even Mr, Pickwick — but 
he elaborated and immor- 
talized her with his brush. 
It is by his " girls of tender 
years and beauty still im- 
mature, in which he has 
cunningly mingled seeming 
simplicity with a voluptu- 
ous grace," that Greuze 
has himself won immor- 
tality. And yet he aimed at 
being a historical painter 
with his " The Emperor 
Severus reproaching Cara- 
cal la,'' and died in indi- 
gence, unappreciated by 
his contemporaries. 

Let us pass quickly 
along our gallery of fair 

TiflrifijiBHkfc type. 



2 93 

women, because Sir Joshua Reynolds, Gains- 
borough, and the rest had no special type of 
woman, until we reach the dawn of the Victorian 
era and the day of th " Keepsake," the " Book 
of Beauty," and " Doi bey and Son," Of these 


From a Photo, ftp X Caewalt Smith, #w t Oxford Streets H', 

we will speak when we come to pen draughts- 

The distinction of being the first to break 
away from the li sugary w type of woman popular 
on the canvases of the late Georgian and early 
Victorian painters undoubtedly belongs to Dante 
Gabriel Rossetti, It has never been correctly 
ascertained whether or not Mrs, Rossetti was 
the original of the ^Rossetti girl" Certainly 
the portrait of her which hangs in the Tate 
Gallery exhibits all the characteristics of the 
famous type. But, on the other hand, Rossetti 
drew all women more or less like that. For 
him there were no stout, buxom girls, no laugh- 
ing, merry girls, no thin-lipped girls, no girls 
with small chins, no girls with slim necks^ no 

girls with melting, deeply lashed eyes. 
There were no women with fashionable 
fringes or curly flaxen locks. It is a 
wonderful type he created, but one 
cannot help being thankful that Eng- 
land is not peopled with Rossetti 
women. It would lie so monotonous. 
It would be discouraging to young 
men wholly lacking aesthetic tendencies. 
Of a similar nature, but far less 
pronounced, and owing more to the 
inspiration of Botticelli, are the women 
of Burne-Jones's canvases. They, too, 

K«ovi "klamma vLvrALli*. 1 ' ' 
Frem a Photo, bv tlvHytr, 

are soulful ; they, too, never relax into 
a smile, Dreamy creatures, full of the 
tragedy of life and looking unutterable 
poetry— -these aie not the women of 


musical comedy 
or frivolously 
"shoot the 
chutes " at Earl's 

How fragile 
they are com- 
pared with I^igh- 
ton's women — 
"splendid British 
animals/' as one 
rritir ca!lc:d tlu-m 
— looking peace 
and strength and 
good- nature out 
of every feature 
and sinew! 
British they may 
be — and this is 
to be expected, 
seeing that the 
sisters Deane 
were Ix>rd Leigh- 
ton's models — 
but they approxi- 
mate more the 
classic type. The 
" Leighton girl " 
is a true sister of 
the Venus de 




(By permission of the Berlin Photo, Co., 133, New Bond Slrtet, W,) 

Milo — tall, large- 
limbed, and com- 
placent. Of this 
type also are the 
women of Albert 
Moore ; if any- 
thing, even more 
Greek and with 
even closer re- 
semblance faci- 
ally to statues 
of the age of 

Sir Edward 
Poynter delights 
in classical sub- 
jects and in the 
portrayal of 
women, but in no 
such sense are 
his women classi- 
cal in feature or 
outline. It has 
been said that 
they are perfect 
women — but not 
pretty women. 
They are neither 
tall nor short, 
neither plump 

(Copyright by Landed & Brawn, Worship Street, London, 1^ dl ULi^lEff^l Pf trQ FjJgcl ^|JUkiP£d^ 




pkmi a powtion of the picture, <1 at thk shrine 


{By permission of the Berlin Fhoio< Co H| 133, Ne* Bond St. , W,) 

nor slim. No poet would speak of their 
charms as "indescribable." They are r ull 
of grace, and so are Alma-Tadema's wo men, 
but without w inborn en ess. 

It has been said that "the re-creator of 
ancient Rome has never drawn a really pretty 
woman," And again we say, it all depends 
on what the beholder regards as a pretty 
woman. If we take the Hellenic standard, 
then Leigh ton's and Albert Moore's women 
are pretty. We must not, however, forget 
the naive confession of a clever artist, 
recently deceased, that he could "draw 
anything from a teapot to a County Council- 
lor, but that he couldn't draw a pretty 
woman if he tried, and he had tried 
thousands of times," 

No such avowal as the foregoing could be 

made by Mr. Marcus Stone. It has been 
objected to the " Marcus Stone girl n that, in 
an age of hockey, tennis, and golf, she is a 
little too sentimental, but then it must be 
remembered that the u Marcus Stone girl " 
does not belong to this age. As her author 
says : " The costume of to-day is not that of 
to-morrow, and it is not always easy to get it 
accepted as poetical and artistic. Accord- 
ingly, I chose the costume of a generation 
or two before our own— a costume modern 
and yet sufficiently remote to stamp it with a 
certain fixedness and a certain poetry." She 
made her first bow to the world in 1882, for, 
odd as it may seem, her creator was prior to 
that time a historical painter, of deserved 



' u\_i i--s >\\~, 





(By permission of the Illustrated L&nd&n yeiDs t owners of the copyright.) 

repute, the author of such pieces as " From 
Waterloo to Paris-" He himself writes: "I had, 
after a good deal of thought, come to the con- 
clusion that the artist, like the author, paints best 
that which he is able to fed most intensely, what 
he can see himself." And Mr. Marcus Stone 
had already seen the M Marcus Stone girl " — seen 
her in Kensington, perhaps, through his u special 
spiritual lens,'' and had marked her for his own. 

Easily distinguishable from all their compeers 
on canvas are the women of Mr. Boughton, 
although they, too, may owe something of their 
distinction to the costume of a certain fixed 
period. The " Bough ton girl" is plump — not 
too spiritudle — a fine, healthy, practical creature. 

yet demure withal. Other girls may 
appear from time to time as this 
artist's work, but the type we give is 
the true ideal; oft recurrent, and 
painted byno other painter of the day. 

Similar, and yet dissimilar, is Mr. 
Storey's young woman, whom every 
annual visitor to Burlington House 
instantly recognises and greets as an 
old friend. Again, who could fail to 
recognise Mr. Sant's women, with their 
long, pendulous upper lip — appearing 
even in portraits of ladies who have 
no such marked facial trait ? 

Two artists, Parris and Newton, 
contrived to delight a whole genera- 
tion by their women, and sixty years 
ago it was the great ambition of every 
young lady, not only in England, but 



in prance and 
America, to emu- 
late the charms 

. of the " Keep- 
sake girl/' Yet 
looking at these 
portraits to - day 
we are inclined 
to wonder at 
their insipidity. 

They are girls 
without anima- 
tion, without fire; 
we fear, without 

, strong common- 
sense. No won- 
der Becky Sharp 
astonished them. 
It was the age of 
sentiment. Even 
the comfortable, 
rosy little women 
Dickens loved 
and Hablot K. 
Browne (*" Phiz") 
drew fail to evoke 
our admiration. 
The example of 
the girlish occu- 
pant of the 
throne proved so 
irrd&istible that 
small, short 



(By permission of i\it Proprietor* of Punch.) 
Vol xxvit. — 38- 

by LiOOgle 

certainly does nut 
in the accompany- 
ing drawing. 

Everybody is 
fum i liar with the 
44 Du Marnier girl " 
— similar in her 
physical proportions 
to Leigh ton's ideal, 
but infinitely more 
stately^ as she was 
infinitely modern — 
modern yet classical, 
English yet Greek. 
Anyone who has 
seen Mitlais's por- 
trait of Lady Pal 
housie will see one 
source of Du Man- 
ner's inspiration. 

**" His own weak- 
ness/ 1 writes one of 
his intimate friends, 
Mr. Val Prinsep, 
"was Size, Though 


women became 
fashionable, 7Te 
strapping six- 
footer whom 1 !u 
Maimer worship- 
ped would tfu*n 
have been coil- 
sidered a mon- 
strosity. The 
"Thackeray girt" 
was invariably 
p?fifi\ and John 
Leech would 
never have 
brought his pen- 
cil to portray 
women who 
stood above five 
feet three in their 

Sir John Ten- 
niel, in the pages 
of Pufuh and out 
of it, always drew 
a woman of grace 
and distinction — 
not always an 
easy feat — even 
when she lacked 
beauty, as she 

(By permission of the Proprietor* 




strong and active, he was but a small 
man himself, and perhaps on that account 
his highest admiration, whether for man or 
beast, was reser% p ed for creatures of colossal 
proportions. His heroes and heroines must 
all stand three or four inches over six feet" 
The M Dtl Maurier girl" is a superb creature, 
broad-shouldered and erect, and a wonderful 
contrast to the young women of the 41 Keep- 
sake " type. Nor must we omit a passing 
reference to Mr. Bernard 
Partridge's petite women 
— with their pretty heads 
11 one size too large " and 
too-slender necks. What 
a contrast to the stately 
maidens —chiefly Britan- 
nias — of his confrirt^ 
Mr, Sam bourne ! 

The "Gibson girl " is 
already of international 
renown, She may be 
said to be the American 
version of the " l)u 

Maurier girl," who was certainly her godparent 
Slight, supple, and straight — as straight as an 
American girl should be —she boasts, more- 
over, a sweet prominence of chin, also an 
American girls endowment. So popular has 
become the portrayal of this type on the 
other side of the Atlantic that other artists 
ha% ? e followed suit with their conceptions. 
Wherefore we find the " Stanlaws girl," 
the " Christy girl," the "Gushing girl," and 
others. Perhaps none of our 
English artists in black and white 
draw a wholesomer, prettier Eng- 
lish girl than Mr, Gordon Browne, 
whose work is very familiar to 
Strand readers. 

There will always be fashions 
in beauty, even though beauty 
is said to be perennial — " a joy 
for ever." If we must admire 
one type we might choose IXi 
Maimer's, the embodiment of 
grace and good breeding, and 
exclude Rubens; but the 
"Rubens girl " may become a la 
mode again, and the Rossetti 
mystic enslave the fancy of mil- 
lions of our 
who will, per- 
haps, mildly 
wonder at 
the popu- 
larity of the 
chic damsels 
for whom Mr. 
Dana Gibson 
is weekly 


(By permission of ihe Proprietors oj 


(By perm Lis ion of James Henderson Si .Son,) 

3 y Google 



Old Ballads. 

N the olden time, when a soldier 
fought a battle, a criminal was 
hanged, a ship was wrecked, or 
a lover proved faithless, the bards 
in Grub Street instantly set to 

work, and the cry of the ballad-monger was 

heard in the land, It 

is different now. To 

stir the great heart of 

the people is no longer 

the unchallenged pre- 
rogative of the penny 

lyric. Ships are 

wrecked, even under 

the most harrowing 

circumstances, and we 

look for the fact in our 

daily newspaper under 

the heading " Lloyd's 

Intelligence." A hun- 
dred years ago we 

might have flung our 

selves out into the street 

and invested in a 

broadside beginning : — 

O listen, while I ihe dread 

news convey, 
How the Mary Dak was 

wrecked on the sixth 

of May. 


Sad is the tale which we 

have to tell 
Of ihe 

Roger and Dolly 

Down in ourytflige. lived a parson mid fail wife* 
Wbff Ie4 a. very deeeni tort </ opraforU^ hfir 
They fc*pt 'i nrv&ag m in ati/maid, tr vAfit 
. coble! be, {"be* 

'fbe rtraid we* food Df Rofcer^-in4 H»s** Io*d'qf 

— - and the 

fate that befell 
Those poor fellow- creatures 
* who no one could 
And * poor souls 

found a watery grave, 

The convenient 
blanks in the chorus 
could be filled up ac- 
cording to the name 
and nature of the 

Then, again, when 
vre want our bosoms 
stirred by the fictitious 
joys and sorrows of 
romance, we of the 
multitude hie us to the 
pit of a theatre or bor- 
row a novel from one 
of Mr, Carnegie's libra- 
ries- Our grandfathers 
were more simple- 
minded. They sent out 


to the stationer's or summoned the itinerant 
hawker, and were moved to laughter and 
tears over ** Roger and Dolly," " Kate, the 
Bride of St Giles," and "Dear Mother, I've 
Come Home to Die," the latter a cheerful, 
light-hearted thing, with a haunting refrain : — 

The angels are calling; 
I hear 
Their voices so sweet 
in the iky- 
Then give me thy bless- 
ing* my baby watch 
Dear mother, I've come 
home to die. 
What artless lyrics 
they were ! We in this 
age of noise and jour- 
nalism, barrel ■ organs 
and biographs, could 
never squeeze out a 
single tear over the 
most pathetic of these 
pr odu c t i ons, although 
they might occasionally 
raise an unfeeling smile. 
We have certainly 
advanced in art. In 
glancing over a collec- 
tion of several hundred 
of these in the writer's 
possession, nearly three 
score patriotic ballads 
round off alternate lines 
with " boys " or " my 
boys," " lads w or " my 
lads. ,J Nowadays, not 
even the writer of the 
least sapient musical 
comedy would con- 
descend to SUCh paltry 
buttresses to rhythm, 
Even "Sing Ho, My 
I*ads," is out of date. 
Then it was " Napoleon 
Talks of War, Boys f " 
"We've Won a Bloody 
Fight, Bays," "All Hail 
to British Oak, Boys," 
etc, not to mention 
" Shell Ne'er be View'd 
Again, My Lads/' 
" Listen to Old Ocean's 
Roar,," If a 
ballad-writer of the old 
school had to revise 
some of our modern 

Napoleon tAJks of war, bori, 

And boajlB bii might j fort*: 
But vain his aim, desalt* bii name, 

To ride the world's h^h horse, 
While waten w«h the a bore, bopi, 

Out owd we will retain — 
WVtc (wept ihe seas Wow, bojw, 
And to we can again. 

And to we ctn, co we em* t 

80 we can again, 
We'™ swept the seas before, bpja. 
And »q wti can again , 
Napoleon talks of war, boys, 

And of his flt«i does boast \ 
Ha thtiki it is quite easy 

For to land upon om coast. 
But let those Frenchmen fry to Gome 

Across the briny EoaiB ; 
We bare swept the sea* before, hoys, 
And so we can again, 

~ ***" *!« ***,, ^ j ^ jffjes he would doubt- 




less want to alter them to "Just a Song at 
Twilight, My Lads," and " Angels Ever 
Bright and Fair, My Boys," just to lend them 
the requisite swing and effect. 

A very striking and popular feature of all, 
or nearly all, the old ballads was the wood- 
cuts by which they were preceded. The 
tests of art a hundred, fifty, twenty-five 
years ago were not severe. We are 
more critical now; but yet it may reason- 
ably he doubted whether even our most 
unsophisticated extract greater pleasure 
from a selection of elaborate photogravures 
than the simple souls of 1804 did from 
these rude designs. And then, apart from 
their intrinsic merit, there was their con- 
venience to the printer. What a precious 

Good-bye to Gretchen," Had mechanical 
engraving not been invented, or the taste of 
the people altered, we might still have had it 
on M Dolly Gray " and " Violets." But this 
old wood-block, like the others in our col- 
lection, fulfilled its mission at last. Perhaps 
it is now lying forgotten amongst the rubbish 
of some London or provincial printer's 
cupboard, Rt quit scat in pme. 

When "A Life on the Ocean Wave" first 
made its appearance it was adorned with a 
spirited illustration of a nondescript belli- 
gerent armed with a cutlass and a look 
of extreme hauteur, To the rising genera* 
tion who bought that stirring ballad and 
went round humming it all day this picture 
was a part of it. Thenceforward the domi- 

A Life on the 

What will yon 
do Love ? 

thing a picture was in those days ! It was 
not an article to be turned out casually by a 
mechanical process, used for the purpose it 
was intended to serve, and then thrown 
aside. No, indeed ; ft was prized, it was 
guarded, it became a fixture in the estab- 
lishment. Take the cut at the head of 
our first ballad, u Roger and Dolly/- It 
dates back to the time o( the Common wealth 
at least After doing duty for a century and a 
half, and upon scores of touching lyrics, one 
might suppose this hard-working wood block 
to become tired and anxious for well-earned 
repose. Not so ; its re institution is but 
little impaired, and we find it figuring until 
quite late in the last century at the top of 
"The Fickle I .over " and "The Dutchman's 

by Google 

neering personage in top-boots became in- 
dissolubly associated with the maritime 
career depicted by ihe poet. They did not 
know — how could they? — that the drawing 
had originally appeared upon a playbill, and 
was then entitled "The Great Henderson 
as 'Othello,'" Afterwards it doubtless 
figured on other ballads, but the artist's 
inclusion of a tiny ship in the remote 
distance was responsible for its lengthy 
association with U A Life on the Ocean 
Wave," one of the most popular ballads 
of modern times. Perhaps a truer idea of 
what a sailor was outwardly eighty or a 
hundred years ago may he got from the 
picture aceompanving the ballad, "What 
Will You Do, Love?' 

Original from 



£jtt*E4 ON TUB- 


What will you do t love, when I am at sea? 
What will you do, love, waiting for me? 

The late I^ord Tennyson used to expatiate 
on the value of repetition in poetry. A good 
line could never be driven home too well. 
That was what the old halladists thought. - 

What will you do, love — will y<m be true? 
What will yo\x Jo, love, what will you do? 

This sort of thing irresistibly reminds us 
of those artless bucolics of Mr. Dan lino's 
some years ago ; — 

Down where the red poppies grow, 
Down where the red poppies gTOw, 
The poppies, the poppies, 
Down where the red poppies grow. 
Chorus j Duwn where T etc. 

Marine disasters were a fruitful source of 
inspiration to the ballad- make rand of aesthetic 
pleasure to tht! ballad -reader. If the story 
were graced by any particularly agonizing or 
even blood-curdling details, such as canni 
halism, so much the belter. We may be sure 
the luckless couple who figure in the annexed 
engraving often did duty in connection with 
tin- songs of the people. 

Closely to the mast they clung and saw the ship go 

11 O IleaVns, it is our fate," she cried, '* it is our fate 

to drown/* 

One may be sure that this poor lady was 
by no means ready to join in the.sentiment : — 
Then hurrah for the deep, the briny deep, 

The boundless, glorious sea ; 
In a calm , in a storm, in every*form, 
A seaman's life Tor me ! 

As a pendant to the query of the departed 
mariner aforementioned, we have a ballad in 
which a very obvious sailor gives vent to the 
very unmartial (but on the whole very natural} 
sentiment, " I'd Rather Stay With You," when 

Digitized by\jOOglC 

desert bing the glory of carnage 
♦vhu h awaits him. Ballads treating 
of fathers and mothers — more 
especially mothers — have always 
been very popular in England, and 
continue so to the present day, al- 
though at this moment music-pub 
Ushers will tell you that there is 
rather a slump in st mother * songs. 
A rather quaint version is supplied 
by the author of " Dear Mother's 
Picture," who describes a bereaved 
spouse taking unto himself a second 
wife, whereupon (if we are to credit 
the picture) the voice of one of the 
old motherless children calls from 
a distant lamb-pasture : — 
Turn mother's face Lo the wallj dear sister. 

VWI1 never kiss her cheeks no more ; 
I know poor lather he has missed her, 
Her loss I'm sure he does deplore. 

Although he'll marry one with riches, 
And locks of shilling gdld so rare, 

We know he is our father, sister, 
He'll often think of mother dear 

A decided touch of bathos, however, 
creeps into the ballad when the author goes 
on to observe ;— 

Together with father at the alter [sir) 
Dear mother knelt. Pre heard her say. 

The italics are ours. 

I'd rather stay 


Madam, you now my Irade is war : 
And what should 1 deny it for? 
Whene'er the trumpet sounds from far, 

I long- to hack and hew* 
Yet* madam, credit what I say; 
Were I this moment called away t 
And all the troops drawn in array, 

I'd rather stay with you* 





In another effusion we come across a little 
maiden, in the costume of 1812 or there- 
about^ standing beneath a yew in a church- 
yard and sing 
ing: — 

Be kind lo thy 
father, for now 
he is old, 
I lis locks inter- 
mingled wi 1 h 
His tool steps are 
feeble, once 
tearless and 
Thy father if 
passing away. 

Which makes us 
hope the filial 
kindness has not 
been postponed 
until the grave 
stage suggested 
by the artist. 

The advent of 
the steam-engine 
and the conse- 
quent disapi>ear- 
ance of the old 
mailcoach gave 
rise to a whole 
set of ballads of 
praise, lament, 

or satire. u The Wonders of Steam " relates 
how steam is made to work in a multitude of 
ways. Even of the politician of the day — 

I l T s steam, boys, steam* 

And things are not what they seem ; 

Though tliey roar and they bellow lo frighten 

a fellow, 
It's steam , lads, steam. 

We have spoken of the frequency with 
which certain pictures appear from time to 
time on the old ballads* Thev were not 
always selected by the printer or publisher 
with care. They did not always sit serenely 
at the head of the lyrical feast. Occasionally 
they bore the appearance of intruders. They 


A View ef one oftfce Stoan Carrion*. 

NOW folks I will tell jm. although I'm no 
By steam you can ride with speed up and down. 
Now that's all the go, I'll tell you for why. 
The people are eager to leani for to fly. 


Y01. may travel by steam ai the folk* say. 
All the world over upon the railway. 

seemed to have been lugged in forcibly. A 
glaring example of what we mean is supplied 
by " The Old Abbey Ruin." Here we have 

a sporting scene 
which might 
have been drawn 
by Seymour, 
Dickens's first 
illustrator. A 
worried - looking 
gentleman is 
drawing a full 
perambulator up 
a steep hill to 
illustrate such 
lines as :— 

We met by the ab- 
bey again and 
And many bright 
hours passed 
away ; 
She said our parting 
would cause her 
much pain, 
And timidly pres- 
sed me 10 
With no eves to see 
us, no tongue 
to tell, 
The birds only 
knew of mir 
As I fondly embraced her dear little waist 
Down by ihe old abbey ruin. 

Another ballad, " Billingsgate Bill," bears 
a picture apparently from the same ingenious 
hand. It displays the interior of a public- 
house —say, the tap-room— but none of the 
characters therein assembled bear the re- 
motest resemblance to the hero of this early 
coster-ballad : — 

As up and down the streets I go I whistle and I sing, 
The bells upon the pony's head so merrily they ring ; 
And as I travel round the square you can hear me 

say — 
" Fine peri winks or Gravesend shrimps, the/ re very 

fresh to-day." 


The Old Abbey Ruin. 







Then, too, why should a faultlessly attired 
young gentleman of 1840 stand in all his 
radiant garments in the middle of a bleak 
valley, strike an attitude, and exclaim, " Break 
it Gently to My Mother " ? Could he haw; 
stolen the clothes ? Or, perhaps, he was a 
Scotch shepherd wearing trousers for the first 
time, and naturally aware of the shock it 
might give his parent. 

Of moral sentiments our collec- 
tion of ballads is full to overflowing. 

The poor have always power to console them- 
selves for their poverty by such items as " I'm 
Hungry but I'm Honest Can the Squire 
Say the Same ? " The shabby-genteel can 
better endure their shabby-gentility in singing 
lustily, "Judge Not a Man by the Coat that 
He Wears " : — 

Why should ihe broadcloth alone be respected, 
And ihe man be despised who in /us/a tit appears ? 

While the angels in heaven have their Hint is unpro- 
Von can't judge a man by Ihe t<>al that he wears. 

The coming of theChristy Minstrels brought 
in **Jim Crow" and a swarm of nigger 
ballads, which, albeit, must not be con- 
founded with the "coon songs " of yesterday. 
These were as often as not pathetic and sen- 
timental, arid great popularity in Li me ho use, 
Stepney, St. Giles's, and the Borough had 
"Nelly Gray" and "Old Jeff." Modern 
music-hall audiences would hardly stand a 
bouncing black " coon " who should come on 
tn the centre of the stage arid sing :— 

O, since that time how things have changed I 

Pour »* elly thai was my bride 
Is laid beneath ihe cold grave sod, 

Down by her father's side. 
1 planted there upon her grave, 

Ihe weeping- willow tree, 
I bathed its roots with many a tear 
That it might shelter me. 


45b)b*I tt£ year ™ Mi-4if , 

Thit I fc ummber wcli. 

Int down by po*r NdlVi dde, 

Aud» itory the did uli. 

*Tw»* ib'inL ■ poof old dlrkia, Jeff, 

To*t livid lot ait riT * ror ; 
But now hoTi d«d, mod in hi* jpwc. 
Ho trouble don h* fcir. 

Yor gtKKi old Jeff hat gone U i 

We kooW \hm% he 1 n tre p j 
D*i«rb him ftut , but let hu» r 
Wl y do Nfi Trnmnif*. 


Finally, we have the " British Songster* 1 — a group 

of no fewer than eight sentimental, not to say 
tearful, lyrics. Here again, why should they be pre- 
ceded by figures apparently representing Mr. Qtiilp 
and Mrs. Gamp strolling beneath a tattered umbrella? 
True, the poet or his printer might jxjint to the 
sadness on their feces, and. do not the elements weep? 
Original from 


* -s*^-- i i>m *•■* "g^ -^" " „™ - v ~~ r 

r '. i_ *, 

- * - • t ^ 


1 - "* 7* 

HE hour was midnight and the 
weather inclement, but the 
two men who sat over the fire 
in a room on the second floor 
of No. — -, George Street, 
Bloomsbury, paid small heed 
to the tempest without Each had his pipe 
and occupied a venerable leather-covered 
arm-chair ; between them a small deal table 
supported glasses and decanters. 

For the space of five years they had occu- 
pied the same house : Richard Draycott 
renting the comparatively luxurious rooms 
on the first floor, while Martin Pender, his 
friend, dwelt above. 

They frequently met, as now, in the barely 
furnished upper room ; for Pender could 
seldom be induced to descend, and Draycott 
humoured him. They had smoked to-night 
for some time in silence, for before them 
was the prospect of a separation more pain- 
ful than either cared to own, 

"You see," said Draycott, at length, " if 
I am ever to get out of this groove it 
must be by an effort that will land me the 
other side of the world/' 

" You may be right. When do you sail ? " 

"On Saturday." 

The talk drifted away to the chances of 

Digitized by GOOglC 

travel in general, but Draycott said little as to 
his own plans, " He was a man who had 
reached, writing under the pseudonym of 
** Eugene Hunt," the position of a popular 
novelist, and had so far succeeded in 
making an income amply sufficient for his 
wants. Yet in ; his heart he condemned the 
quality of the work he produced, and had 
kept the fact of his identity with Eugene 
Hunt a strict secret even from his publishers. 

It was, indeed, known but to one person 
besides himself— his friend, Martin Pender 
Draycott had, however, recently received a 
legacy of three thousand pounds, and had 
determined to bid farewell for a time to 
Eugene Hunt and the obligations which 
thickened round the name; to free himself 
from the tribute demanded of the phantom 
he had created j to seek in travel wider 
experiences and a more solid basis for his 

Martin Fender had listened to and under- 
stood his views, yet tried to dissuade him 
from carrying them out To his mind his 
friend's position was to be envied, for he 
knew the bitterness of returned sheets, piles 
of manuscript, representing years of thought, 
slowly acquired knowledge, the outcome of 
sympathy with the facts of life, a desire for 





truth. They lay now, stored in an old chest, 
scholarly perfection and poetic thought deli- 
cately expressed, fading into impalpable 
atmosphere with the decay of the paper on 
which they were inscribed, because in the 
judgment of the army of publishers (keen 
judgment, mostly correct) they lacked the 
elements of success. 

Richard Draycott started and Martin 
Pender was left alone. Not until he returned 
to his rooms, one grey Saturday afternoon, 
after seeing the train steam slowly out of the 
station, did he realize how great and how 
painful his solitude would be. A sensitive, 
gentle-natured man, with kind eyes' and a 
bearded face; a trifle careless in his attire, 
deeming such carelessness the best shield for 
poverty. Failing in wider ambitions, he had 
turned to the lowlier walks of journalism — 
short, unsigned articles, notes and anec- 
dotes ; but all his toil brought him a scant 
hundred pounds a year. Fifteen shillings 
per week he paid for lodging and such 
attendance as he claimed ; he found that 
hunger and thirst might not be satisfied 
under an equal amount, and the surplus 
for tobacco and general expenses was not 

Nearly three months had passed since his 
friend's departure, when Pender read one 
morning in his daily paper that an English 
gentleman named Richard Draycott had left 
the Grande Hotel, in Paris, about two o'clock 
on the previous afternoon and had not since 
been seen or heard of. 

A week later, m the same paper, appeared 
a notice to the effect that a body, answering 
to the general description of Mr. Draycott, 
had been found in the Seine; and that, 
although personal recognition was no longer 
conclusively possible, little doubt existed as 
to the identity of the drowned man with the 
missing Englishman. 

Muriel Halsworthy was the proprietor of 
the Marlborough^ a monthly journal of 
established credit and large circulation. The 
entire property had been left to her by her 
husband's will, as her money had largely 
contributed to the purchase and advance of 
the paper. She had married at twenty-two a 
man of forty, and at twenty-seven found her- 
self a widow. She was now in her thirtieth 

One morning, about six months after the 
disappearance of Draycott, Martin Pender 
found upon his table a note from Mrs. Hals- 
worthy asking him to call upon her at her 
private residence. She wished to consult 
him, the letter said, upon a matter of con- 

Vol. xxvii.-39. 

siderable importance and of a common 

Pender was greatly perplexed. He knew 
Mrs. Halsworthy by name, but not person- 
ally. He could not imagine the nature of 
the business in question ; but, of course, he 
obeyed her summons. He found Mrs. Hals- 
worthy in her drawing-room. She had men- 
tioned the tea hour as a convenient time to 
call. A tall woman in black ; a pale face, 
retaining the rounded contours of youth; 
dark, soft eyes, a little deeply set, looking as 
though they had shed many tears ; a mouth 
that smiled readily ; white, shapely hands — 
this was Muriel Halsworthy. 

"I have asked you to take this trouble, 
Mr. Pender," she said, so soon as he was 
entered, " because of an extraordinary inci- 
dent. You may be able to throw some light 
on the matter; I know of no one else who 
might even presumably be able to give me 
the information I seek." She spoke in a 
slow, studied manner, which suggested strong 
emotion steadily repressed. Martin Pender 
merely bowed. 

u Did you know," she continued, " that I 
was — a friend — of Mr. Draycott's ? " 

Pender started slightly. "I never," he 
said, " heard him, so far as I can remember, 
mention your name." 

"And yet he spoke to me of you so 
frequently. Perhaps, however, there was a 
reason ; our friendship was of a less even 
and happy nature — things between us 
were not always smooth — in fact, I was, I 
fear, the chief cause of his leaving England." 

Martin looked at her suddenly and 
earnestly. "His death must have been a 
great grief," he said, gently. 

" The thought of it and of the manner of 
it has been a grief almost too great to be 
borne — a grief now mercifully ended — for he 
is not dead." 

Pender rose to his feet. " Not dead ? 
You have heard ? You know ? " 

44 Yes, I have heard. He has written to 
me. I have his letter here. It is dated the 
4th of April, from a French caravan station 
in his passage across the desert He was on 
his way from Algiers to the frontier. The 
letter has been unreasonably delayed. I have 
learned from the Post Office that the mail- 
bags were detained by the Arabs in some 
disturbance that arose. But here comes in 
the most strange part of the affair. Since 
that letter was written it would seem that 
Mr. Draycott has himself returned to England. 
I cannot trace or find him, yet I know him 
to be here jffin&ffi'Wff l3een ^ ere Q u ft e 




'* NOT U£At>? VOU HAVE. HEAhU?" 

recently, unless, indeed, you are able to 
account for or explain certain circumstances. 
It is conceivable, you see, that he should 
hide himself from me, since we parted under 
a misunderstanding I have been unable to 
remove ; and yet he might have known — his 
letter shows- " 

"What," said Pender, quietly, "are the 
circumstances you refer to r " 

" In his letter he confides to me a secret— 
too late ; he should have told me long ago. 
But this secret I must entrust you with if 
you are to help me ; although/' she added, 
half jealously, " you may be already aware 
of it. Did you ever know that Richard 
Draycott wrote under the pseudonym of 
Eugene Hunt?" 

Martin turned aside, looking down into 
the polished grate, watching the leaping 
flames of the fire, which a cold and wet July 
rendered acceptable, 

" Yes, I did know it," he said, briefly. 

She looked half mortified. u He trusted 
you, then," she said, ** more than he trusted 
me. And now you will understand my 
perplexity and share it ; unless, indeed, you 
can explain it away. In my own journal, in 
the number just about to be issued, appears 
the first instalment of a new story by Eugene 

Pender was manifestly startled- 


"The plot thickens," he said, 

" One very simple solution of the mystery 
has occurred to me— namely, that Mr, Dray 
cott left the story in your hands before he 
went away, and that you have been acting 
for him." 

"That I most certainly have not But 
may not the manuscript have been in the 
hands of your editor prior to last November? ■ 

** Do you think I should fail to make so 
simple an inquiry? No. The complete manu- 
script reached the office on the 30th of May. 
I have informed myself of every detail. An 
application for a serial story was made to 
Eugene Hunt so far back as the end of 
October lasL No reply was received until 
the first week in February ; then came the 
usual type- writ ten letter ; the signature of 
Eugene Hunt was also typed, according to 
his invariable custom, at any rate when 
dealing with us. The letter apologized for 
delay, but promised to supply the story 
completed by the date named, the 30th of 
May, if the offer still held good. This was 
agreed to, and in due course the manuscript 
arrived* You see, therefore, that unless 
some person who has acted for him- can be 
found, we must conclude that Mr. Draycott 
was in England a w r eek after his disappear- 
ance in Paris, and again barely two weeks 
after he wrote to ms from Africa," 




"The cheque- — ?" 

" Was sent, and has been returned to our 
bank duly endorsed by Eugene Hunt in the 
usual writing — a large, formal hand that 
might easily be assumed, quite unlike the 
writing of Mr. Draycott. I have caused 
inquiries to be made at the bank where the 
cheque was paid in, and as the circumstances 
were peculiar the manager gave some in- 
formation. He said that Eugene Hunt had 
had an account there for some years, and 
that he was not known to the bank under 
any other name. Early in November last he 
reduced his balance to a mere trifle, and 
after our cheque was paid in at the beginning 
of June the whole amount was almost 
immediately withdrawn by a cheque bearing 
the signature of Eugene Hunt, and which 
excited no suspicion/* 

** Have you also inquired at the address 
given by Eugene Hunt ? " 

" Both the reply to his letter m February 
and the cheque were sent by his request to a 
post-office in the north of London, to wait 
there till called for The postmistress 
remembers delivering the June letter to a tall 
gentleman in a light overcoat who gave the 
name of Eugene Hunt— nothing more; the 
sort of description that might apply to a 
hundred men." 

"Did he al- 
ways employ this 
method ?" 

"On previous 
occasions he 
gave an address 
which turns out 
to be that of a 
stationer's shop 
where business 
letters are re- 
ceived. The pro- 
prietor said that 
Mr. Hunt had 
not called there 
since October, 
and that, as she 
did not know his 
private address, 
several letters 
which had 
arrived for him 
at a later date 
had been returned to the Post Office." 

" You have certainly," said Pender, " done 
your utmost" 

M Oh, I am weary of it ! Why should he 
hide himself from me in this way? Of 
course, he might think I had had his letter — 


by Google 

would have expected me to write —telegraph 
— something — he would think I was still hard 
and angry* But he must have known there 
was so little time. Oh, it is too bewildering 1 u 
Pender passed his hand across his fore- 
head L *Yes; it is very bewildering," 

" I have sent for you as my last hope, I 
have thought that, even if you were not 
acting as Richard Boycott's agent, you 
might at least know more* of his movements 
than you seem inclined to tell me ; that if 
I explained to you something of my trouble 
— my anxiety to — to make amends for any 
pain I may have caused him — any fault of 
mine — you would — help me ; perhaps take 
him some message — or even persuade him 

to come " 

" Would to Heaven/ 1 he cried, passion- 
ately, " that I could ! He was dear to me — 
the only friend I had — but I know less of his 
fate than you ; I spoke in good faith when I 
spoke of him as dead. No word or line 
from him has reached me— if he has been in 
England I have not known it." 

He was manifestly speaking the truth, 
Mrs. Halsworthy rose And stood near him ; 
her eyes seemed to compel the direction of 
his, and he met her glance. In his she 
fancied she saw an expression like that of some 

wounded animal 
pleading mutely 
to be spared any 
further torture. 
She could im- 
agine no reason 
for such a glance, 
but his whole 
face, the droop of 
the mouth, half 
veiled by a beard 
touched before 
its time with 
grey, was that 
of a man who 
silently, pa- 
tiently awaits 

"If that be 
so," she said, 
gently, " my last 
hope for the pre- 
sent is gone. JJ 
She put out 
her hand ; he hesitated a moment, looking 
at its slender fairness, then touched it lightly 
with his own. 

"If there should be anything further at 
any future time that I can do," he said, 
rather hoarsely, " command me. 
Original from 




44 Come and see me again. We can at 
least talk, plan, conjecture." 

His visit to Mrs. Halsworthy began a new 
era in Martin Pender's life. He went again 
and found himself cordially welcomed ; by 
degrees he knew that his visits were expected 
and desired ; they became an established 
custom. She talked with him freely and 
well ; her life for many years had been spent 
in an atmosphere of literary culture, for her 
father had been a man of considerable attain- 
ments, and, although she steadily refused to 
write herself any word that could possibly 
find its way into print, she was an adept 
critic. Eugene Hunt's story appeared month 
by month and they discussed it freely. To 
her it now seemed instinct with Draycott's 
personality, but she also professed to find in 
it a finer finish, a more scrutinizing and 
reflective style than of old. "That is like 
him," she would say of some passage. " If 
he had not drifted into this groove of anec- 
dote he would have been a great writer. I 
think he will become so." 

One day the conversation drifted to the 
source of her disagreement with Draycott. 

" I can see now," she said, " that the 
situation owed its seriousness to Eugene 
Hunt. I was constantly inveighing against 
what I called the shallow fiction of the day, 
and holding Eugene Hunt up to derision, 
although my own journal owed much of its 
popularity to his work." 

"Then you were inveighing," said Pender, 
thoughtfully, " not only against your own, but 
also against his chief source of income. The 
situation becomes altogether too complex." 

44 1 wanted him to undertake the manage- 
ment of the Marlborough — to become the 
editor. I had vague ideas of turning it into 
a journal of high-class literature. He 
laughed at me, and told me I should simply 
ruin myself. I thought he was poor ; I 
could not tell how he gained money to live — 
but he would not let me help him ; he would 
take nothing from me. I thought he left 
me in obstinacy and anger — I never really 
understood until I received his letter." 

It was soon after this that Martin confided 
to her some of his own aspirations and 
failures. She insisted then on hearing one 
of his rejected manuscripts, with which, 
indeed, she was more in sympathy than with 
the works of Eugene Hunt. After some criti- 
cism and revision she begged to be allowed 
to advance him the means of publication ; 
but this he refused. He was able, he said, 
now to undertake the risk. In his moderate 
way he had of late met with some success. 

Digitized by L^OOQle 

The book appeared and, if not meeting 
with the extraordinary and instantaneous 
popularity which attends some ventures, it 
was accorded a solid place, a moderate wel- 
come, and proved the corner-stone to its 
writer's reputation. 

On every side Martin Pender's lot had 
brightened ; yet he knew that, with the per- 
versity of man, he was daily committing, 
encouraging himself in, an error that might 
ultimately ruin all his chances of peace. He 
loved Muriel Halfcworthy with the absolutism 
of the man who has husbanded his resources, 
the capacities of his inward life ; and, with 
his native humility, his innate power of dis- 
crimination, he knew that Richard Draycott 
was, and for ever would be, his rival. 

But as the months passed and brought no 
news of the missing man he grew to think of 
him once more as dead, or never likely to 
return. Mrs. Halsworthy made every inquiry 
practicable, advertising largely in home and 
foreign papers, but without success, yet for 
a long while she retained hope and faith ; 
only as the third year of his absence drew to 
a close she drooped, she talked of Draycott 
less frequently, she grew suddenly to look 
ten years older, and her health failed. 

In October her doctor advised her to pass 
the winter in the South of France. In her 
surrender of hope Pender almost thought he 
saw the dawning of his own opportunity ; he 
did not follow her south, for he thought 
absence, perhaps, would cause her to feel 
the want of his attentions and to send for 
him. The world was now treating him fairly 
well, and he attributed the sale of his books, 
perhaps rightly, to the influence of Muriel 
Halsworthy both upon his style and his 

By Christmas he found the solitudes of 
London in her absence insupportable, and to 
his chagrin she had not summoned him. 
For the first time for many years he had the 
money and the leisure to take a holiday, and 
he determined to visit the village on the 
south-west coast where his father had for 
so many years been vicar. Some of the 
old people must surely still be there, who 
would welcome him, if not for remembrance 
of himself, for the sake of his father and his 

He arrived at Polwyrn one January after- 
noon, to find it encompassed by an all too 
familiar gale ; the old inn still stood at the 
corner of the road that opened out to the 
little bay at one end and led up to the irre- 
gular village street, branching off at the other 
in a rugged pathway up the cliffs which lined 




the shore ; and tin: landlord of the inn was 
the son of the man whom, as a boy, he remem- 
bered there. 

As he had foreseen, his name brought him 
hearty welcome, and he put up at the inn. 
He congratulated himself in having come 
buck to the old place. Everything around 
him tended to his satisfaction, to distract his 
mind from disappointment and desire, to 
carry his spirit back across the chasm of 
years and link him with the peace of an 
almost forgotten time. The soft sing-song 
of the voices around was soothing and 
familiar ; the food set 
before him by the hostess 
of the inn recalled the 
meals in the vicarage 
parlour ; the very roar- 
ing of the gale without 
brought back a night of 
wreck and fear when he 
had gone with his father 
to the cliff and seen 
through spray and dark- 
ness a vessel dashed to 
pieces on the rocks 
below. The sailors had 
been saved, hauled up the 
cliff- side. Through the gale, 
as he sat by the fire in the 
inn -parlour, he thought he 
could hear again the shouts 
that encouraged the men who 
made the perilous descent, 
guiding the ladder to the 
wreck. Soon, however, he 
became aware that the shouts 
had existence outside his 
imagination ; that he heard 
sounds above the storm and 
mingling with it which told of 
the excitement and gathering 
of the people. 

He left the warm fireside and 
went to the inn door. The bar, the public room, 
the house seemed deserted, but the narrow 
street was alive ; the doors of the fishermen's 
cottages were opening and shutting, affording 
glimpses of warm interiors and muffled 
figures issuing. Men and women carrying 
lanterns, or laden with ropes, blankets, and 
restoratives, were hurrying through the 
storm, streaming towards the narrow path- 
way up the cliff. He knew well enough 
what it meant : a ship upon the rocks. The 
landlord, coming to the door presently, 
furnished him with some details. 

The vessel was supposed to be a tramp 
from the Mediterranean, that, after dis- 


charging some cargo at Falmouth, had been 
going on to Plymouth, In a few minutes 
Pender was making his way up the cliff, 
mingling with the crowd. 

The point where the vessel, pierced with 
sharp rocks, was stranded was about half a 
mile distant, and impossible to reach along 
the shore from the hay of Polwyrn except at 
low* tide and in fine weather. The cliff here 
descended almost sheer, a height of two 
hundred feet, to a small cove ; this cove was 


now dry, but on either side the waters washed 
to the base of the cliff ; and beyond, stretched 
out, jagged, relentless, the low line of rocks 
upon which the vessel lay* 

Pender knew the place well ; he had 
scaled the cliff-side as a boy seeking birds' 
nests ; and in fair weather and at low tide 
had fished from the rocks below or bathed 
from the cove. 

When he reached the place now ropes 
were bting already let down and two 
men had descended ; a third apparatus 
was being prepared, a chair lashed by 
ropes from the four corners to a double 
strand ; OfrHffl^l f(pssible that some of the 




shipwrecked might be wounded or helpless 
from exhaustion, 

The wreck had been lifted and carried by 
the breakers so near the cliff that to reach her 
from the cove was comparatively easy. The 
chief danger lay in the difficulties of ascent 
and descent ; in the risk in that high wind of 
being dashed against the cliff or some pro- 
jecting stone, and in the great need for 
dispatch, In less than two hours the cove 
would be covered with the incoming tide, 

The work went on bravely. One after 
another the men from the ship, fast going to 
pieces, were got ashore and drawn up the 
cliff. In most cases they were uninjured 
and able to protect themselves with a pole 
from the cliff-side ; one or two, faint from 
exhaustion and cold, were drawn up in the 
chair accompanied by one of the rescuers at 
his own extreme peril, standing as he best 
might, clinging with one arm to the ropes, 
with the other using the pole. One of these 
men after such a journey fainted from 
exhaust ion p and Pender, stepping forward, 
offered to take his place on the return 
journey. There was a demur, but through 
his insistence, and 
because of his old 
knowledge of the 
place, he was finally 
allowed to go. 

Of that strange 
descent into the 
abyss he had ever 
after the faintest, 
most confused re- 
collection — the 
voices of many 
waters, the rush of 
winds bent on 
destruction, the 
bulging cliffs, the 
ropes that seemed 
so frail, and yet 
strong as the right 
hand of God and 
his own brave will* 
He reached, he 
scarce knew how, 
the cove and felt 
the sand beneath 
his feet One or 
two men were there 

been washed off, but I'm game for one 
more try." 

" You go up," said Pender ; " I'm fresh to 
the work and stand a better chance," He 
had got the rope round him and was 
scrambling through the surf before the man 
could reply. His thought was, "To think 
of one poor loved human creature, perhaps 
left there to die ! " 

He reached the ship in safety ; all around 
desolation — no sign of living thing. He 
peered down the hatches, feeling he was 
peering into his own doom, for the black 
water surged below. He took a step down 
and gave, he scarce knew why, a shouL He 
heard no answering sound, but his foot struck 
something. He stooped and felt the wet 
clothing of a man, an arm thrown forward, 
and then the hair ; the man had fallen face 
downward on the step in an effort to reach 
the deck. 

He stooped and, clutching him beneath 
the arm -pits, dragged him up the last two 
steps of the gangway and laid him on the 
deck upon his back. 

In the light of a moon shining through 


waiting their turns, 

and three of the rescuing party. One of 

these said to him : — 

"We think we've got them all off; yet 
we've heard tell of a passenger, and him 
we can't find. We think he must ha' 

D igitized by Li OOQ IC 

scud he saw the face— pallid, unconscious, 
changed, but he believed not dead — the face 
of Richard Draycott I 

He gave one wild cry; that echoed out 
into the night. Ol^^jp^^p! what miserable 






destiny had brought him to this? The one 
man whom in all the world he desired to 
know was dead If he left him there ? The 
ship in another few minutes would go to 
pieces — who w T ould know ? A body washed 
ashore — perhaps washed off the wreck long 
before — had they not said they could not 
find him ? Why should this task have been 
left for him ? 

And then, with the cold air blowing on his 
face, Richard Draycott 
opened his eyes. 

** Ah ! Where am 
I? Why — Pender — 
you ? ■ he smiled, a 
faint gleam of the old 
radiance illuminating 
his whiteness, " You t " 
he repeated. 

** Yes, it is L Come* 
there is no time to 
lose ; we must get out 
of this." 

M You must leave 
me ; my leg, I think jt 
must be broken. I 
tried the companion 

"There is no leav- 
ing. We live or die 
together — you and I." 

Pender spoke gruffly; 
but he was already 
crossing as gently as 
he could the arms of 
the injured man, and 
lashing them together 
a little above the 
wrists. He then knelt 
down upon the deck 
and, causing Draycott 
to roll a little over on 
his side, managed to 
slip the arms, now 
firmly linked, over his 
own head. Holding 
the hands tightly to his 
chest, he rose slowly, 
drawing Draycott up 
with him, until he 
gained an upright position, having the injured 
man upon his back. How, with his burden, 
he made his way from the vessel to the rocks 
and, cut, bruised, and bleeding, to the shore, 
he knew not. It was one blind struggle with 
fate ; the manhood in him strung to despera- 
tion in a contest with more than Nature's 
elements and weapons, to more than human 

Digitized by GOOQ I C 

From the cove all were gone but one of 
the rescue party, who helped to lash 1 >raycott 
in the chair and was then drawn up him- 
self. Draycott and Pender made the ascent 
together, Pender wielding the pole* 

The following morning Martin sat at the 
bedside of his friend in a room at the inn. 
A letter from Muriel Habworthy, forwarded 
from town, had just reached him, and he held 
it now in his hand as he looked at the quiet, 
sleeping face of the 
man he had rescued, 

"I know, dear 
friend/* Muriel wrote, 
" that you will rejoice 
with me. Draycott 
has written, he is com- 
ing home. He will 
be in London almost 
as soon as this reaches 
you ; and I am hurry- 
ing to meet him. . . . " 
Draycott stirred and 
opened his eyes. 
Except for the broken 
limb, which had been 
set, he was but little 
injured. " What 
heavenly peace ! TJ he 
said — then his eye 
caught the letter. 
"Why, surely that 

is " He tried to 

raise himself. 

M Lie still," Pender 
said; "it is Mrs. 
H als wor t hy f s writ ing. 
She writes to say she 
is expecting you ; I 
have telegraphed a 
reply. Probably she 
will be here to-night or 
to-morrow morning," 

Draycott J s face was 
illumined. Then, 
" You know her ? " he 
asked, curiously; "you 
correspond ? " 

"Only as your 

friends. I am going to 

her. I must leave this 

dravcott j\np fender maps the, ascent 



hand you over 
place to-day 

"Leave? Before Muriel comes? Nonsense. 
May I see the letter ? " 

Pender handed it to him. 

" How can you talk of leaving? " Draycott 
said, when he had raid it. " How can any 
happiness of ours be complete without 
you ?" Original from 




He stretched out his hand ; Pender rose 
without touching it. 

" I have that to tell you which you will 
see necessitates my going," he said. " In 
your absence I wrote a novel under the name 
of Eugene Hunt." 

Draycott opened his eyes wider. " The 
deuce you did." He seemed rather amused. 

" It is not a slight matter. I was in great 
straits. Among some papers which you left 
with me to be destroyed, papers connected 
entirely with the affairs of Eugene Hunt, I 
found an offer for a story to be contributed 
to the Marlborough Magazine" 

" By Jove ! in the hurry I forgot all about 

"I accepted the offer, fulfilled the con- 
ditions, and received the cheque for five 
hundred pounds; all under the name of 
Eugene Hunt. I knew, you see, all your 
methods of conducting the business. I 
imagined you dead, and that I was injuring 
no one." 

" I don't see," said Draycott, thoughtfully, 
" that you did injure anyone very much, any- 
how. You merely assumed the name I had 
done with. It is a curious case, and how the 
law would decide such a matter I am sure I 
can't say. At all events, I, for one, am not 
likely to try. Could such an offer be taken 
up by any Eugene Hunt that happened to 
be going? One important point would be 
whether the magazine suffered by the change." 

" I believe not ; rather, I imagine, the 

"Then," said Draycott, gaily, "I make 
over to you Eugene Hunt and all his re- 
sponsibilities ! I was anxious enough to be 
rid of him, Heaven knows. If I have learned 
nothing else in my wanderings, I have learned 
that my vocation is not that of a novel writer. 
I believe the true instinct of- my life to be 
the commercial instinct ; Eugene Hunt and 
his works never meant more to me than a 
means to an end — a livelihood. I have 
turned ivory-merchant, and have not been 
altogether unsuccessful." 

"Then," said Pender, "your old reason 
for leaving England no longer exists, and 
your way is clear. But I have something 
further to tell you which you may find less 
easy to forgive than anything I have yet said. 
The letter you wrote to Mrs. Halsworthy 
soon after your reported death was long 
delayed in the transit. When she received 
it she sent for me. Curiously, almost at the 
same time the first number of the new story 
by Eugene Hunt was appearing in the 
Marlborough Magazine" 

by Google 

" You told her — explained ? " 

" I did not tell her. Put yourself in my 
place. She imagined that you had been in 
England — twice — without trying to com- 
municate with her — all manner of things." 

" Did she think that I was false to her ? " 

" I believe never." 

" No ; her letter shows. And you ? " 

There, was a moment of silence, laden with 
unuttered passion. Draycott was regarding 
his friend curiously. " She might, you know, 
have preferred you, justly enough," he said. 

"She regards me — has always regarded 
me," Pender answered, sternly, "merely as 
your friend, in the light of a link with you. 
Her letter also proves that, and I — I thank 
Heaven — have never sought to imply any other 
feeling ; or, if I have, she has not recognised 
it or been aware of it. Could she other- 
wise have had the cruelty to write what you 
have seen? Do not drive me too far." 

With sudden impulse Draycott once more 
stretched out his hand, and this time touched 
that of his friend. 

" You feel it cruelly ? Poor old chap. 
And you saved my life — for her ? " 

Another three months had passed away, 
and Martin Pender one afternoon sat once 
more in his room, alone. The same room 
on the second floor of No. — , George Street, 
for, although his circumstances might now 
have allowed him a greater degree of luxury, 
he was a man slow to change. 

He had left Polwyrn, as he had told Dray- 
cott he must leave, feeling it impossible to 
meet Muriel Halsworthy at that time. He 
had since received one letter from her, a 
letter full of expressions of the most kind 
friendliness, of warmest gratitude, and of 
admiration for his heroism ; not a word or 
hint concerning that episode of his life which 
he most dreaded to hear mentioned. Yet he 
knew that Draycott had told her the truth. 

Now for some time he had heard no news 
either of her or of Draycott, and he won- 
dered sometimes if they were already 
married, whether they would ever remember 
him again. Draycott had at first been full 
of gratitude and affection ; but he lived in a 
different part of London, and by degrees his 
visits to George Street ceased. Their paths 
in life seemed quite separated. 

There came a quiet tap presently at 
Martin's door, and in response to his 
mechanical " Come in," someone entered. 
He looked up, to see Muriel Halsworthy. 

He was so greatly surprised as to be 
scarcely conscious of the feeling ; only of a 
great gladness. 

Original from 




41 Your landlady," she said, apologetically, 
"told me that you were at home, and that 
she thought I might come up. Why have 
you been so long without coming to see 

glad ; then we found — how was it ? — we had 
drifted apart in all these years ; we had less 
than ever in common. He had become 
essentially a merchant. We did not quarrel, 
we grew indifferent." 



il i scarcely thought you would need me. 
I have thought of you as happy, contented ; 
but Draycott has not been here for a long 
while, I have not heard. It seems to me 
that you are not looking so strong as I had 
hoped to see you. You have not altogether 
recovered ? n 

u Has it never occurred to you," she said, 
ignoring the matter of her health, " that 
Richard Draycott has in some way changed, 
or is it only that he has developed ? " 

"He is a successful man." 

u Yes ; and perhaps is now, for the first 
time, truly himself." 

" You have not quarrelled again ? " 

" We have not met for a long while — more 
tiian a month* I have been longing to tell 
you how it all came about. At first I was so 

" You are still unhappy ; and I, in saving 
him, hoped to give you your heart's desire," 

"You did more," she said, gravely; "you 
have helped to save me from a long delusion. 
I should have worshipped a memory," 

Pender walked the length of the room. 
" Before you separated did he tell you every- 
thing that passed between us at Polwyrn ? n 
he asked. 

il Everything/ ' Then she, too, rose. " I 
owe you/' she said, gently, " more than I can 
say. In losing a dream I have awakened to 
a reality, I have learned " 


"There is only one man whom I could 
ever marry." 

11 Tell me" 

M Eugene Hunt ! " 


by Google 

Original from 

From a] 


Battles with Bergs, 

Bv R T. McGrath. 


HE worst danger that menaces 
Transatlantic travellers nowa- 
days is that of collision with 
an iceberg in a dense fog. It 
is morally certain that the mys- 
terious disappearance of big 
Steamships like the A r aro?tk and Huron ian 
in recent years is attributable to this cause, 
for no other agency is powerful enough to 
work the ruin of a modern liner, with h^r 
cellular bottom and watertight bulkheads. 
One of these mighty structures can defy the 
most furious storms, so varied are the safe- 
guards she possesses to withstand the buffet- 
ing of wind or wave ; while fire, the most 
deadly peril in the bygone times of wooden 
hulls, is no longer dreaded, for it is easily 
confined within one steel compartment 
Even collision with another ship is not a 
grievous peril, because rarely is either of the 
combatants so sorely wounded as to be 
unable to limp into port, It takes some 
Titanic influence to overwhelm one of these 
floating fortresses^ usually the overturning of 
an iceberg through the impact of collision, 

The corrosive action of salt water on 
the submerged mass, with the play of the 
sun on the exposed portion, often produces 
such a delicately balanced berg that the 
touch of a man's hand will upset it. Often 
Newfoundland fishermen, cutting fragments 

from bergs to pack round their bait or fish, 
are destroyed by the huge hummocks rolling 
right over, sending men and boats to bottom 
in a miniature maelstrom. Imagine, then t 
the result when a powerful ocean steamer, 
impelled at the rate of eighteen or twenty 
knots an hour, hurls her vast bulk against a 
rampart of ice w T hich suddenly shows itself 
through the fog right across the route she 
must go 3 Ft is too late to stop her, no 
change of helm will bring her clear ; those 
on board can only pray that the berg will 
stand firm against the shock. If so, she may 
escape with a battered bow ; but if the berg 
upsets it is easy to understand the appalling 
consequences of a mass thousands of tons 
in weight falling over on a ship or smashing 
in her underbody as it swings up beneath 

Icebergs are found in the North Atlantic 
east of Newfoundland the whole year round. 
They are most numerous in the spring, when 
they are carried south over the Grand Banks 
in the midst of the mighty frozen fields 
which are torn from their Arctic home 
and sent careering across the wide waste of 
waters from Greenland to Labrador. In the 
weekly bulletin of the United States Hydro- 
graphic Office for April 8th, 1903, appeared 
the reports of no fewer than eighty-two 
steamers arming at American ports the 




previous seven days and sighting one or 
more bergs on the passage, while a week 
later eighty-five reports were published, and 
the hydrographer appended a note to the 
effect that a number of others had to be 
omitted for want of space. As the summer 
advances and the sun becomes more power- 
ful the betgs are melted into smaller frag- 
ments or break into pieces, and being too 
shoal to ground on the Grand Banks are 
swept into the Gulf Stream, where they lie 
in the way of the steamers plying east and 
west, and 
the shipping 
casualties which 
so frequently oc- 
cur during the 
summer months.* 

Last season 
bergs were unusu- 
ally numerous on 
the Grand Banks, 
and nearly a score 
of ships were 
damaged by strik- 
ing against the 
crystal islands, 
while the frosty 
apparitions of 
others, wreathed 
in fogs, were des- 
cried by every 

steamer traversing these waters until well 
up in the autumn, A blustering winter with 
fierce and persistent gales, the worst for 
ten years, caused the bergs to drift south, in 
the grip of the Polar current, and hundreds 
of them of every shape and size^ and scattered 
or in fleets, were carried across the steam- 
ship lanes beyond the Banks to imperil the 
navigation of these waters by passing craft. 
Farther north the bergs were even more 
numerous, and many a smack came to an 
end, with all on board, by striking one in a 
midnight gloom. 

During the spring, when blizzards, fogs, 
and frozen gales obscure the ocean's face, 
they are, indeed, a terrible danger, and ships 
have been known to leave Newfoundland 
ports and be sunk within four hours of 
departure, so thickly are the waters there 
sown with these snow-dusted hummocks, 
Then the ordinary peril is multiplied many 
times, for the fogs defy the keenest vision, 
and the presence of a squat berg may not be 

* On June rSth the stenmer A'am&djt? pciswiJ by a hr£c bcrR 
which broke Into four punts, probably through the vibration in 
the water caused by* the Wows of her propeller; and on July 
17th the steamer Fcnnmaner saw another monster brtLik in im>, 
each section yet remaining a substantial 1 

Digitized by v.^ 

known until the forepart grinds against it. 
Even in summer, when the calm seas and 
clear horizons make their detection easy and 
their evasion simple, a curtain of fog may 
descend and blot out sea and sky, so that 
the utmost f caution is needed to avoid 
disastrous contact with them. Some of the 
steamship lines plying between England and 
Canada have abandoned the Belle Isle route 
altogether because icebergs are so numerous 
there, and they now utilize the less perilous, 
but sufficiently risky, route round Cape Race. 

From a} 

A SfLlT iceberg* 



The figures respecting these mighty masses 
would be deemed incredible but for the ease 
with which their truth can be attested. The 
passengers on the mail - boat plying to 
Labrador often count two or three hundred 
bergs off that coast on one day. The 
Hudson Bay Company's steamer Pelican in 
1902 passed one off Ungava which was nine 
miles long and two hundred and seventy feet 
high. The British warship Ckarybdis last 
year found seventy-eight in White Bay, and 
one of these was three hundred and eighteen 
feet high. As a berg shows only one- eighth 
of its bulk above the surface, their depth can 
be imagined. The surveying ship Goldfinch 
had to quit work on the Grand Banks in 
August, 1903, owing to the scores of bergs 
that infested that area, and several of the 
Montreal liners plying viA Belle Isle Strait 
had their bows stove in by colliding with 
pinnacled masses or stunted ones. Earlier 
in the year the ocean steamships running 
to and from New York had to deflect 
from their regular route because the 
Kaiser WUhelm almost impaled herself on 
one, and in June and July, the most dan- 
gerous month" of the year for them, as the 




current moves south more rapidly, the 
steamers touching every port from St. John's 
to Baltimore were reporting the presence in 
the fairway of these ghostly demons of the 

It was as late in the season qp November 
7th, 1879, that the Guion liner Arizona^ then 
the fastest ship afloat, drove against a colossal 

Fnma) the likejz "arizopja," showing ubr pows cbumpled in uv am iceberg. [P&alQ, 

ice-rampart on the Grand Banks while pro- 
ceeding to Liverpool from New York with 
five hundred and fifty persons aboard. The 
collision completely battered in her bows, 
destroying them in a manner only pos- 
sible to be understood by referring to the 
photograph, and crumpling up stout steel 
beams like so many pieces of straw. The 
impact made her forepart such a shell of 
strained plates and girders that she was 
barely kept afloat until she reached St. 
John*s, the pumps being manned the whole 
time and all on board fearing that each 
moment she would sink beneath the waves. 
After her arrival there some two hundred 
tons of ice were taken out of her forepeak, 
the result of her conflict with her silent but 
deadly enemy. Repairs to enable her to 
return to New York occupied three months, 
as she had to have wooden bows put in, and 
this was a tedious and costly job in a port 
like St John's. 

The next year the French fishing barque 
Alonkalm^ with a crew of forty eight men, 
struck a berg off Cape Race, and received 
such injuries that she sank within a few 

minutes, carrying down her whole ship's 
company except six men, The Newfound 
land fishing-schooner Trefoil was destroyed 
in the same way a few years later, and out of 
twenty-four souls only' two escaped. Many 
other sailing craft have undoubtedly been 
lost with all hands from a like cause, leaving 
no trace of their fate. American fishing- 
schooners, which 
are navigated with 
a recklessness no 
others attempt, 
are particularly 
susceptible to 
such disasters, and 
how many of them 
have been sent to 
the bottom by ram- 
ming bergs will 
probably never be 
known. The 
number can only 
be conjectured by 
the total of those 
which come into 
collision with the 
ice-masses and 
escape in a more 
or less crippled 
condition. Several 
such make New- 
foundland ports 
in a season, and 
occasionally a starving man in a flimsy boat 
will be picked up adrift, with a gruesome 
tale to tell of a midnight horror when a 
rudely -built fishing-smack went to pieces 
against a towering, glassy crag. 

In 1 896 the steamer K night Bachelor^ in 
crossing the Grand Banks in a fog, fouled 
a berg and tore away her bows so as to 
leave her a complete wreck forward. Luckily 
for her, however, she was moving half speed 
only, and therefore did not strike it with 
full force, else she would have crumpled 
up and collapsed like an egg-shelL Even 
at her low speed she sustained so severe a 
wound that her escape was little short 
of a miracle, and she was viewed by 
thousands after she had made her way intc 

The Concordia is another illustration of the 
damage caused by an iceberg accident. She 
was steaming out of the Straits of Belle Isle 
in August, 1899, when she plumped into a 
sheer wall of ice, an ocean battlement resist- 
ing all attacks. Stricken with a gaping 
wound she backed off and headed away from 
her immova^cftnlSlg^Pft* g^d to escape 




a] WITH A MERfi. \Vh*Au. 

with no worse injury than a bow rent 
asunder to the ft ire most bulkhead. 

The Anchoria some years ago struck 
a piece of ke with her screw in April 
and broke her shaft, being then two 
hundred miles off St. John's, The ship 
was full of passengers, and, with the 
winter gales raging over that area, her 
plight was desperate. A boat's crew 
volunteered to row for St John's to get 
help, and did so in the teeth of the 
storms, but she was picked up by another 
steamer and towed along in her wake, 
reaching there without further mishap, 
though her passengers were a Imost crazed 
with the panic, as the two ships were 
enmeshed in the floes for a long time, 
and in danger of being " nipped " by 
the contending sheets. The Gascogne^ 
a French liner, had a similar experience 
in April, 1898, coming to anchor on the 
Banks amid the floes and bergs, and 
being caught there until the piling, raft- 
ing masses rose to the height of her rail 
and threatened to overwhelm her and 
all on board. She had a total personnel 

of over four hundred, and, there being 
many women, their terror was extreme, 
the whole situation proving to be one 
which nobody on board ever desired a 
repetition of. 

Nothing could be more appalling than 
the conditions created aboard an ocean 
steamer filled with passengers when she 
strikes an iceberg. She is a floating 
pandemonium, the terror of all accentu- 
ated by the fact that there is usually 
nothing else in sight to take them off if 
the disaster is of the worst. 

In May, 1899, the steamer Grand 
Lake^ bound for Boston, went against a 
berg off Cape Race with two hundred 
and thirty-five persons aboard, and had 
to put into St John's in a sinking 
condition, lines of passengers with 
buckets assisting the steamers pumps in 
keeping her free of water. The In man 
liner City of Berlin came near ending 
her days by poking her prow into a berg 
on the Grand Banks in a dense fog in 
April, 1900. Her figure-head was de- 
stroyed, her bowsprit carried away, and 
her stem punctured from deck to keel* 


U N I V ERSI tir^r iWtH IG A N 




ripping her open well below the water-line. 

About one hundred tons of ice tumbled on 

board her> and it 

was feared at first 

she would sink. 

The crash of the 

onset and the 

thunder of the ice 

on deck stampeded 

the passengers, 

and they rushed 

wildly to the deck ; 

but discipline was 

soon restored, as 

it was found the 

ship could still 

swim so as to 

make her way to 

port, which she 

eventually did 

after some delay, 

A month later 
the Haiasiii a 
Montreal liner, hit 
a berg off Cape 
Race. She ran 

ong a regular 

fleet of them, it being dense fog at 
the time, and in steering to avoid 
one she rammed another. But she 
was under small headway, and 
only stove in her stem and plates 
attached. As the picture shows, 
her whole stem up to a certain 
point was crushed back against the 
bulkhead, the fracture above being 
as clean as if made with a machine. 
It was in a case like this, in 1881, 
that the steamer Isabel^ off Cape 
Race, too, met the accident which 
sent her to her end with twenty- 
six souls, only one survivor scramb- 
ling on to the berg and being 
rescued from there a few hours later 
by a fishing-boat* The Isabel in a 
fog sighted a berg, and altering her 
helm to pass it by drove against a 
submerged spur of the flinty crystal, 
which scored her bottom with a 
great gash from stem to stern, 
causing her to turn turtle and go 
down with all hands but this man, 
who clung to a grating, and thence 
made his way up the steep side of 
the berg, where he was descried 
later in the day. 

In July T 1896, the steamer John 

Bright smashed a great hole in her 

bows by driving against a berg that 

lay almost awash, and a similar accident 

befell the Rotterdam only a month later. In 







Original from 



3 r 9 

May, 1S97, the steamer Furior was disabled 
by collision with a towering berg, and putting 
into St. John's was docked, and had a 
wooden bow constructed. But on resuming 
her voyage she struck another and shattered 
this and the bulkhead to which it was 
fastened, so that she soon filled and sank, 
her crew being forty hours in open boats 
before they were rescued. In August, 1898, 
the Addington had her bows beaten in, and 
in June, 1900, the Gratia also impaled 
herself on a floating hummock. In July, 
1903, the steamer 
Hedwig met dis- 
aster in a kindred 
form, and in August 
the Baku Standard \ 
an oil-tanker, hit 
one or these "grow- 
lers," as the New- 
foundlanders call 
them, ripping apart 
her forepeak. 

Sometimes it is 
a ship's side or 
bottom that is 
damaged, just as 
the point of impact 
happens to be one 
or the other. In 
the summer of 
1899 the Alder m\\ 
threading her way 
through a berg- 
strewn region off 
Cape Race, had 
one flung against 
her side, inflicting 
a wound therein 
from keel to bul- 
wark, and da mag- 
ing two compart- 
ments so seriously 
that only the 
greatest exertion 
enabled her to 
reach St. John's in safety. In 1892 the 
Imogem sustained severe damages to her 
bottom through striking on a submerged 
shelf of ice, extending several hundred feet 
from the parent berg to which it was attached. 
This is one of the greatest risks in traversing 
waters where bergs are numerous — the fact 
that the contour above water offers no index 
to the shape below, a minaret often being 
superimposed on a vast flat area, stretching 
out below water in every direction, and a 
deadly danger to a ship that approaches too 
near. In 1892 the steamer Portia^ off St 


Frvma] with 

John's, ran on one of these ledges, and, dis- 
turbing the equilibrium of the whole berg, 
was lifted clear out of water, but broke off 
the submerged [>art with her weight and 
dropped back again with her bottom rent, 
and her seventy passengers, as well as her 
crew, panic-stricken at their narrow escape 
from death, for she would probably have 
been sunk with all on board but for this 
fortunate circumstance. 

But it is not steamers alone which are the 
victims of contact with these bergs. On 

May 28th, 1903, 
the schooner Wis- 
teria put into St. 
John's with her 
bows stove by hav- 
ing struck a berg a 
glancing blow in a 
fog on the Grand 
Hanks the previous 
night. She was 
leaking badly, and 
had she struck the 
berg head on she 
must inevitably 
have foundered. 
That was the fate 
of the schooner 
Herat in July, 1902, 
in the same vicinity, 
which collided with 
a berg under like 
conditions, only 
she struck a more 
direct blow, and 
shattered every 
plank in her frame, 
so that she filled 
and sank almost 
instantly, carrying 
down with her 
eleven out of the 
sixteen souls com- 
prising her crew. 
In September, 
1900, off Labrador, the schooner Czar^ with a 
fishing crew of sixty-five, came near hurrying 
them all into eternity when she foundered 
within an hour after running into a berg. 
Fortunately another vessel lay near, and she 
rescued every soul, though by a very small 
margin. In September, 1903, the barque 
Belfast had to be abandoned off Cape Race 
because of injuries sustained through col- 
lision with a berg, and in October the crew 
of the French trawler Vengeur were found in 
open boats, their vessel having collided with 
a fragment and sunk under them, 


A HERfp, \PJwto- 



R. CHALK'S expedition to 
the Southern Seas became a 
standing joke with the captain, 
and he waylaid him on several 
occasions to inquire into the 
progress he was making, and 
to give him advice suitable for all known 
emergencies at sea, together with a few that 
are unknown. Even Mr. Chalk brgan to 
tire of his pleasantries, and, after listening to 
a surprising account of a Scotch vessel which 
always sailed backwards w f hen the men 
whistled on Sundays, signified his displeasure 
by staying away from Dials tone Lane for 
some time, 

Deprived of his society the captain con- 
soled himself with that of Edward Tredgold, 

Copyright, 1904, by W. W, Jacobs, 

a young man for whom he was beginning to 
entertain a strong partiality, and whose 
observations of Binchester folk, flavoured 
with a touch of good-natured malice, were a 
source of never-failing interest. 

iL He is very wide-awake/' lie said to his 
niece, " There isn't much that escapes 

Miss Drewitt, gazing idly out of window, 
said that she had not noticed it 

" Very clever at his business, I under- 
stand/ 1 said the captain. 

His niece said that he had always appeared 
to her — when she had happened to give the 
matter a thought — as a picture of indolence. 

u Ah ! that's only his manner/' replied the 
other, warmly, "He's a young man that's 
going to gtfc..oni Jae*^ jzoing to make his 

" theU, iM'^f Michigan 



mark. His father's got money, and he'll 
make more of it" 

Something in the tone of his voice attracted 
his niece's attention, and she looked at him 
sharply as an almost incredible suspicion as 
to the motive of this conversation flashed 
on her. 

" I don't like to see young men too fond 
of money," she observed, sedately. 

"I didn't say that," said the captain, 
eagerly. "If anything, he is too open- 
handed. What I meant was that he isn't 

" He seems to be very fond of coming to 
see you," said Prudence, by way of encourage- 

41 Ah ! " said the captain, " and " 

He stopped abruptly as the girl faced 

" And ? " she prompted, 

"And the crow's-nest," concluded the 
captain, somewhat lamely. 

There was no longer room for doubt. 
Scarce two months ashore and he was trying 
his hand at matchmaking. Fresh from a 
world of obedient satellites, and ships re- 
sponding to the lightest touch of the helm, 
he was venturing with all the confidence of 
ignorance upon the most delicate of human 
undertakings. Miss Drewitt, eyeing him 
with perfect comprehension and some little 
severity, sat aghast at his hardihood. 

" He's very fond of going up there," said 
Captain Bowers, somewhat discomfited. 

" Yes, he and Joseph have much in 
common," remarked Miss Drewitt, casually. 
"They're somewhat alike, too, I always 

" Alike ! " exclaimed the astonished cap- 
tain. " Edward Tredgold like Joseph ? Why, 
you must be dreaming." 

" Perhaps it's only my fancy," conceded 
Miss Drewitt, " but I always think that I can 
see a likeness." 

" There isn't the slightest resemblance in 
the world," said the captain. " There isn't a 
single feature alike. Besides, haven't you 
ever noticed what a stupid expression Joseph 
has got ? " 

" Yes," said Miss Drewitt. 

The captain scratched his ear and regarded 
her closely, but Miss Drewitt's face was 
statuesque in its repose. 

" There — there's nothing wrong with your 
eyes, my dear?" he ventured, anxiously — 
" short sight or anything of that sort ? " 

" I don't think so," said his niece, gravely. 

Captain Bowers shifted in his chair and, 
convinced that such a superficial observer 

must have overlooked many things, pointed 
out several admirable qualities in Edward 
Tredgold which he felt sure must have 
escaped her notice. The surprise with which 
Miss Drewitt greeted them all confirmed him 
in this opinion, and he was glad to think 
that he had called her attention to them ere 
it was too late. 

" He's very popular in Binchester," he 
said, impressively. " Chalk told me that he 
is surprised he has not been married before 
now, seeing the way that he is run after." 

" Dear me ! " said his niece, with sup- 
pressed viciousness. 

The captain smiled. He resolved to stand 
out for a long engagement when Mr. Tred- 
gold came to him, and to stipulate also that 
they should not leave Binchester. An ad- 
mirer in London to whom his niece had once 
or twice alluded — forgetting to mention that 
he was only ten — began to fade into what the 
captain considered proper obscurity. 

Mr. Edward Tredgold reaped some of the 
benefits of this conversation when he called 
a day or two afterwards. The captain was 
out, but, encouraged by Mr. Tasker, who re- 
presented that his return might be looked 
for at any moment, he waited for over an 
hour, and was on the point of departure 
when Miss Drewitt entered. 

" I should think that you must be tired of 
waiting ? " she said, when he had explained. 

" I was just going," said Mr. Tredgold, as 
he resumed his seat " If you had been five 
minutes later you would have found an empty 
chair. I suppose Captain Bowers won't be 
long now ? " 

" He might be," said the girl. 

"I'll give him a little while longer if I 
may," said Mr. Tredgold. "I'm very glad 
now that I waited — very glad indeed." 

There was so much meaning in his voice 
that Miss Drewitt felt compelled to ask the 

" Because I was tired when I came in and 
the rest has done me good," explained Mr. 
Tredgold, with much simplicity. "Do you 
know that I sometimes think I work too 

Miss Drewitt raised her eyebrows slightly 
and said, " Indeed ! I am very glad that you 
are rested," she added, after a pause. 

"Thank you," said Mr. Tredgold, grate- 
fully. " I came to see the captain about a 
card-table I've discovered for him. It's a 
Queen Anne, I believe ; one of the best 
things I've ever seen. It's poked away in 
the back room of a cottige, and I only dis- 
covered it bj T accident." 




"It's very kind of you," said Miss Drewitt, 
coldly, " but I don't think that my uncle 
wants any more furniture ; the room is pretty 
full now/' 

u I was thinking of it for your room," said 
Mr. Tredgold. 

"Thank you, but my room is full," said 
the girl, sharply, 

11 It would go in that odd little recess by 
the fireplace," continued the unmoved Mr. 
Tredgold. " We tried to get a small table 
for it before you came, but we couldn't see 
anything we fancied. I promised the captain 
I'd keep my eyes open for something." 

Miss Drewitt looked at him with growing 
indignation, and wondered whether Mr. 
Chalk had added her to his list of the 
victims of Mr. Tredgold's blandishments. 

Drewitt, firmly. " Please don't say anything 
to my uncle about it." 

Mr, Tredgold looked disappointed. "As 
you please, of course," he remarked. 

"Old things always seem a little bit 
musty," said the girl, softening a little. "I 
should think that I saw the ghosts of dead 
and gone players sitting round the table. I 
remember reading a story about that once." 

" Well, what about the other things ? " said 
Mr. Tredgold. " Look at those old chairs, 
full of ghosts sitting piled up in each other's 
laps — there's no reason why you should only 
sec one sitter at a time. Think of that beau- 
tifully-carved four-poster," 

" My uncle bought that," said Miss 
Drewitt, somewhat irrelevantly. 

" Yes, but I got it for him," said Mr, Tred- 


"Why not buy it for yourself? B she 

" No money," said Mr. Tredgold, shaking 
his head. "You forget that I lost two 
pounds to Chalk the other day, owing to 
your efforts." 

" Well, I don't wish for it," said Miss 

gold. " You cant pick up a thing like that 
at a moment's notice — I had my eye on it for 
years ; all the time old Brown was bedridden, 
in fact I used to go and see hirn and take 
him tobacco, and he promised me that I 
should have it when he had done with it," 
" Done with u ? " repeated the girl m a 




startled voice. "Did — did he get another 
one, then ? " 

Mr. Tredgold, roused from the pleasurable 
reminiscences of a collector, remembered 
himself suddenly. " Oh, yes, he got another 
one," he said, soothingly. 

" Is — is he bedridden now ? " inquired the 

" I haven't seen him for some time," said 
Mr. Tredgold, truthfully. "He gave up 
smoking and — and then I didn't go to see 
him, you know." 

" He's dead," said Miss Drewitt, shivering. 
" He died in Oh, you are horrible ! " 

" That carving " began Mr. Tredgold. 

"Don't talk about it, please," said the 
indignant Miss Drewitt. " I can't understand 
why my uncle should have listened to your 
advice at all ; you must have forced it on 
him. I'm sure he didn't know how you 
got it." 

" Yes, he did," said the other. " In fact, 
it was intended for his room at first. He 
was quite pleased with it." 

"Why did he alter his mind, then?" 
inquired the girl. 

Mr. Tredgold looked suddenly at the 
opposite wall, but his lips quivered and his 
eyes watered. Miss Drewitt, reading these 
signs aright, was justly incensed. 

" I don't believe it," she cried. 

" He said that you didn't know and he 
did," said Mr. Tredgold, apologetically. " I 
talk too much. I'd no business to let out 
about old Brown, but I forgot for the moment 
— sailors are always prone to childish super- 

" Are you talking about my uncle ? " 
inquired Miss Drewitt, with ominous calm. 

" They were his own words," said the 

Miss Drewitt, feeling herself baffled, sat for 
some time wondering how to find fault 
politely with the young man before her. Her 
mind was full of subject-matter, but the 
politeness easily eluded her. She threw out 
after a time the suggestion that his presence 
at the bedside of sick people was not likely 
to add to their comfort. 

Captain Bowers entered before the 
aggrieved Mr. Tredgold could think of a 
fitting reply, and after a hasty greeting 
insisted upon his staying for a cup of tea. 
By a glance in the visitor's direction and a 
faint smile Miss Drewitt was understood to 
endorse the invitation. 

The captain's satisfaction at finding them 
together was complete, but a little misunder- 
standing was caused all round, when Mr. 

Tasker came in with the tea, by the series of 
nods and blinks by which the captain strove 
to call his niece's attention to various facial 
and other differences between his servant 
and their visitor. Mr. Tredgold, after stand- 
ing it for some time, created a little con- 
sternation by inquiring whether he had got 
a smut on his nose. 

The captain was practically the only talker 
at tea, but the presence of two attentive 
listeners prevented him from discovering the 
fact. He described his afternoon's ramble 
at such length that it was getting late by the 
time they had finished. 

" Stay and smoke a pipe," he said, as he 
sought his accustomed chair. 

Mr. Tredgold assented in the usual manner 
by saying that he ought to be going, and 
instead of one pipe smoked three or four. 
The light failed and the lamp was lit, but he 
still stayed on until the sound of subdued 
but argumentative voices beyond the drawn 
blind apprised them of other visitors. The 
thin tones of Mr. Chalk came through the 
open window, apparently engaged in argu- 
ment with a bear. A faint sound of hustling 
and growling, followed by a gentle bumping 
against the door, seemed to indicate that he 
— or perhaps the bear — was having recourse 
to physical force. 

" Come in," cried the captain. 

The door opened and Mr. Chalk, some- 
what flushed, entered, leading Mr. Stobell. 
The latter gentleman seemed in a surly and 
reluctant frame of mind, and having ex- 
changed greetings subsided silently into a 
chair and sat eyeing Mr. Chalk, who, some- 
what nervous as to his reception after so 
long an absence, plunged at once into con- 

" I thought I should find you here," he 
said, pleasantly, to Edward Tredgold. 

"Why?" demanded Mr. Tredgold, with 
what Mr. Chalk thought unnecessary abrupt- 

"Well — well, because you generally are 
here, I suppose," he said, somewhat taken 

Mr. Tredgold favoured him with a scowl 
and a somewhat uncomfortable silence 

"Stobell wanted to see you again," said 
Mr. Chalk, turning to the captain. " He's 
done nothing but talk about you ever since 
he was here last." 

Captain Bowers said he was glad to see 
him ; Mr. Stobell returned the courtesy with 
an odd noise in his throat and a strange 
glare at Mr. Chalk. 




" I met him to-night," con- 
tinued that gentleman, "and 
nothing would do for him but 
to come on here*" 

It was evident from the 
laboured respiration of the ardent Mr, Stobell, 
coupled with a word or two which had filtered 
through the window, that the ingenious Mr. 
Chalk was using him as a stalking-horse. 
From the fact that Mr. St obeli made no 
denial it was none the less evident, despite 
the growing blackness of his appearance, 
that he was a party to the arrangement, The 
captain began to see the reason. 

"It's all about that island," explained 
Mr* Chalk ; " he can talk of nothing else," 

The captain suppressed a groan, and 
Mr, Tredgold endeavoured, but without 
success, to exchange smiles with Miss 

11 Aye, aye," said the captain, desperately. 

" He's as eager as a child that's going 
to its first pantomime/' continued Mr. Chalk. 

Mr. Stobell's appearance was so alarming 
that he broke off and eyed him with growing 

"You were talking about a pantomime," 
said Mr. Tredgold, after a long pause. 

Mr. Chalk cast an imploring glance at Mr, 
Stobell to remind him of their compact, and 

"Talks of nothing else," he said, watching 
his friend, " and can't sleep for thinking of it." 

"That's bad," said Mr* Tredgold, sympa- 
thetically. " Has he tried shutting his eyes 
and counting sheep jumping over a stile?" 

" No, he asn*f t " said Mr Stobell, exploding 
suddenly, and turning a threatening glance 
on the speaker ll And what's more," he 

by Google 


added, in more ordinary tones, " he ain'l 
going to." 

« We— we've been thinking of that trip 
again/' interposed Mr. Chalk, hurriedly. 
" The more Stobell thinks of it the more he 
likes it. You know w T hat you said the last 
time we were here ? " 

The captain wrinkled his brows and 
looked at him inquiringly. 

" Told us to go and find the island," Mr, 
Chalk reminded him. " You said, ( IVe 
shown you a map of the island ; now go and 
find it/" 

41 Oh, aye," said the captain, with a laugh, 
"so I did," 

" Stobell was wondering/' continued Mr. 
Chalk, "whether you couldn't give us just a 
little bit more of a hint, without breaking 
your word, of course." 

" I don't see how it could be done," re- 
plied the captain, pondering ; "a promise is 
a promise." 

Mr. Chalk's face fell: He moved his chair 
aside mechanically to make room for Mr. 
Tasker, who had entered with a tray and 
glasses, and sat staring at the floor. Then he 
raised his eyes and met a significant glance 
from Mr. Stobell. 

" I suppose we may have another look at 
the map ?" he said, softly ; "just a glance to 
freshen our memories." 

The captain, who had drawn his chair to 
the table to preside over the tray, looked up 

Original from 




" No," he said, brusquely. 

Mr. Chalk looked hurt. " I'm very sorry," 
he said, in surprise at the captain's tone. 
" You showed it to us the other day, and I 
didn't think— — " 

" The fact is," said the captain, in a more 
gentle voice — " the fact is, I can't." 

" Can't ? " repeated the other. 

" It is not very pleasant to keep on refusing 
friends," said the captain, making amends for 
his harshness by pouring a serious overdose 
of whisky into Mr. Chalk's glass, "and it's 
only natural for you to be anxious about it, so 
I removed the temptation out of my way." 

" Removed the temptation ? " repeated 
Mr. Chalk. 

" I burnt the map," said the captain, with 
a smile. 

" Burtit it ? " gasped Mr. Chalk. " Burnt 

" Burnt it to ashes," said the captain, 
jovially. " It's a load off my mind. I ought 
to have done it before. In fact, I never ought 
to have made the map at all." 

Mr. Chalk stared at him in speechless 

" Try that," said the captain, handing Mr. 
Stobell his glass. 

Mr. Stobell took it from mere force of 
habit, and sat holding it in his hand as 
though he had forgotten what to do with it. 

" I did it yesterday morning," said the 
captain, noticing their consternation. " I had 
just lit my pipe after breakfast, and I suppose 
the match put me in mind of it. I took 
out the map and set light to it at Cape 
Silvio. The flame ran half-way round the 
coast and then popped through the middle 
of the paper and converted Mount Lone- 
some into a volcano." 

He gave a boisterous laugh and, raising 
his glass, nodded to Mr. Stobell. Mr. 
Stobell, who was just about to drink, lowered 
his glass again and frowned. 

" I don't see anything to laugh at," he 
said, deliberately. 

" He can't have been listening," said Mr. 
Tredgold, in a low voice, to Miss Drewitt. 

" Well, it's done now," said the captain, 
genially. " You — you're not going ? " 

11 Yes, I am," said Mr. Stobell. 

He bade them good-night, and then paus- 
ing at the door stood and surveyed them ; 
even Mr. Tasker, who was gliding in unobtru- 
sively with a jug of water, shared in his 

" When I think of the orphans and 
widows," he said, bitterly, " I " 

He opened the door suddenly and, closing 

it behind him, breathed the rest to Dialstone 
Lane. An aged woman sitting in a door- 
way said, " Hush / " 

by V_ 



Miss Drewitt sat for some time in her 
room after the visitors had departed, eyeing 
with some disfavour the genuine antiques 
which she owed to the enterprise, not to say 
officiousness, of Edward Tredgold. That they 
were in excellent taste was undeniable, but 
there was a flavour of age and a suspicion of 
decay about them which did not make for 

She rose at last, and taking off her watch 
went through the nightly task of wondering 
where she had put the key after using it last. 
It was not until she had twice made a fruit- 
less tour of the room with the candle that 
she remembered that she had left it on the 
mantelpiece downstairs. 

The captain was still below, and after a 
moment's hesitation she opened her door and 
went softly down the steep winding stairs. 

The door at the foot stood open, and 
revealed the captain standing by the table. 
There was an air of perplexity and anxiety 
about him such as she had never seen 
before, and as she waited he crossed to the 
bureau, which stood open, and searched 
feverishly among the papers which littered it. 
Apparently dissatisfied with the result, he 
moved it out bodily and looked behind and 
beneath it. Coming to an erect position 
again he suddenly became aware of the 
presence of his niece. 

" It's gone," he said, in an amazed voice. 

"Gone?" repeated Prudence. "What 
has gone ? " 

" The map," said the captain, fumbling his 
beard. " I put it in this end pigeon-hole 
the other night after showing it and I haven't 
touched it since ; and it's gone." 

" But you burnt it ! " said Prudence, with 
an astonished laugh. 

The captain started. "No; I was going 
to," he said, eyeing her in manifest con- 

" But you said that you had," persisted his 

" Yes," stammered the captain, " I know I 
did, but I hadn't. I was just looking ahead 
a bit, that was all. I went to the bureau 
just now to do it." 

Miss Drewitt eyed him with mild reproach. 
"You even described how you did it," she 
said, slowly. " You said that Mount Lone- 
some turned into a volcano. Wasn't it 

Original from 




" Figure o J speech, my dear," said the 
unhappy captain ; " I've got a talent for 
description that runs away with me at times/' 

His niece gazed at him in perplexity. 

"You know what Chalk is," said Captain 
Bowers, appealing] y, " I was going to do it 
yesterday, only I forgot it, and he would 
have gone down on his knees for another 
sight of it, I don't like to seem disobliging 
to friends, and it seemed to me a good way 
out of it. Chalk is so eager— it's like re- 
fusing a child, and I hurt his feelings only 
the other day," 

" Perhaps you burnt it after all and forgot 
it ? " said Prudence. 

For the first time in her knowledge of him 
the captain got irritable with her. " I've 
not burnt it," he said, sharply, "Where's 
that Joseph ? He must know something 
about it ! " 

He moved to the foot of the staircase, but 
Miss Drewitt laid a detaining hand on his arm. 

"Joseph was in the room when you said 
that you had burnt it/' she exclaimed. " You 
can't contradict yourself like that before 
him. Besides, I'm sure he has had nothing 
to do with it." 

Digitized by GoOQle 

" Somebody's got it," grum- 
bled her uncle, pausing. 

He dropped into his chair 
and looked at her in con- 
sternation. " Good heavens / 
Suppose they go after it," he 
said, in a choking voice. 

" Well, it won't be your 
fault," said Prudence. " You 
haven't broken your word 

But the captain paid no 
heed- He was staring wild- 
eyed into vacancy and rump- 
ling his grey hair until it 
stood at all angles. His face 
reflected varying emotions. 

" Somebody has got it," he 
said again. 

"Whoever it is will get 
no good by it," said Miss 
Drewitt, who had had a 
pious upbringing, 

" And if they've got the 
map they'll go after the 
island," said the captain, 
pursuing his train of 

" Perhaps they won't find 

it after all," said Prudence. 

"Perhaps they won't," 

said the captain, gruffly. 

He got up and paced the room restlessly. 

Prudence, watching him with much sympathy, 

had a sudden idea. 

" Edward Tredgold was in here alone this 
afternoon," she said, significantly. 

" No, no," said the captain, warmly. 
" Whoever has got it, it isn't Edward 
Tredgold, I expect the talk about it has 
leaked out and somebody has slipped in and 
taken it. I ought to have been more 

1( He started when you said that you had 
burnt it," persisted Miss Drewitt, unwilling 
to give up a theory so much to her 
liking. " You mark my words if his father 
and Mr. Chalk and that Mr. Stobell 
don't go away for a holiday soon. Good- 

She kissed him affectionately under the 
left eye— a place overlooked hy his beard— 
and went upstairs again. The captain filled 
his pipe and, resuming his chair, sat in a 
brown study until the clock of the neigh- 
bouring church struck two. 

It was about the same time that Mr, 
Chalk fell asleep, thoroughly worn out by the 
events of the evening and a conversation 




with Mr. Stobell and Mr. Tredgold, whom he 
had met on the way home waiting for him. 

The opinion of Mr. Tredgold senior, an 
opinion in which Mr. Stobell fully acquiesced, 
was that Mr. Chalk had ruined everything 
by displaying all along a youthful impetuosity 
sadly out of place in one of his years and 
standing. The offender's plea that he had 
thought it best to strike while the iron was 
hot only exposed him to further contumely. 

" Well, it's no good talking about it," said 
Mr. Tredgold, impatiently. " It's all over 
now and done with." 

" Half a million clean chucked away," 
said Mr. Stobell: 

Mr. Chalk shook his head and, finding 
that his friends had by no means exhausted 
the subject, suddenly bethought himself of- 
an engagement and left them. 

Miss Vickers, who heard the news from 
Mr. Joseph Tasker, received it with an 
amount of amazement highly gratifying to 
his powers as a narrator. Her strongly- 
expressed opinion afterwards that he had 
misunderstood what he had heard was not 
so agreeable. 

" I supposfc I can believe my own ears ? " 
he said, in an injured voice. 

" He must have been making fun of them 
all," said Selina. " He couldn't have burnt 
it— he couldn't." 

" Why not ? " inquired the other, surprised 
at her vehemence. 

Miss Vickers hesitated. " Because it 
would be such a silly thing to do," she said, 
at last. " Now, tell me what you heard all 
over again — slow." 

Mr. Tasker complied. 

" I can't make head or tail of it," said 
Miss Vickers when he had finished. 

" Seems simple enough to me," said 
Joseph, staring at her. 

" All things seem simple when you don't 
know them," said Miss Vickers, vaguely. 

She walked home in a thoughtful mood, 
and for a day or two went about the house 
with an air of preoccupation which was a 
source of much speculation to the family. 
George Vickers, aged six, was driven to the 
verge of madness by being washed three 
times in succession one morning ; a gag of 
well - soaped flannel being applied with 
mechanical regularity each time that he 
strove to point out the unwashed condition 
of Martha and Charles. His turn came when 
the exultant couple, charged with having 
made themselves dirty in the shortest time 
on record, were deprived of their breakfast. 
Mr. Vickers, having committed one or two 

Vol. xxvii. — 42. 

minor misdemeanours unchallenged, attri- 
buted his daughter's condition to love, and 
began to speak of that passion with more 
indulgence than he had done since his 

Miss Vickers's abstraction, however, lasted 
but three days. On the fourth she was 
herself again, and, having spent the day in 
hard work, dressed herself with unusual care 
in the evening and went out. 

The evening was fine and the air, to one 
who had been at work indoors all day, 
delightful. Miss Vickers walked briskly 
along with the smile of a person who has 
solved a difficult problem, but as she drew 
near the Horse and Groom, a hostelry of 
retiring habits, standing well back from the 
road, the smile faded and she stood face to 
face with the stern realities of life. 

A few yards from the side-door Mr. Vickers 
stood smoking a contemplative pipe; the 
side-door itself had just closed behind a tall 
man in corduroys, who bore in his right hand 
a large mug made of pewter. 

" Ho ! " said Selina, " so this is how you 
go on the moment my back is turned, is it ? " 

" What d'ye mean ? " demanded Mr. 
Vickers, blustering. 

"You know what I mean," said his 
daughter, "standing outside and sending 
Bill Russell in to get you beer. That's 
what I mean." 

Mr. Vickers turned, and with a little 
dramatic start intimated that he had caught 
sight of Mr. Russell for the first time that 
evening. Mr. Russell himself sought to 
improve the occasion. 

" Wish I may die " he began, solemnly. 

" Like a policeman," continued Selina, 
regarding her father indignantly. 

"I wish I was a policeman," muttered 
Mr. Vickers. " I'd show some of you." 

" What have you got to say for yourself ? " 
demanded Miss Vickers, shortly. 

" Nothing," said the culprit. " I s'pose I 
can stand where I like? There's no law 
agin it." 

" Do you mean to say that you didn't send 
Bill in to get you some beer?" said his 

" Certainly not," said Mr. Vickers, with 
great indignation. " I shouldn't think of such 
a thing." 

"I shouldn't get it if 'e did," said Mr. 
Russell, virtuously. 

" Whose beer is it, then ? " said Selina. 

"Why, Bill's, I s'pose; how should I 
know ? " replied Mr. Vickers. 

" Yes, it's mine," said Mr. Russell. 




"Drink it up, then/' commanded Miss 
Vickers, sternly, 

Both men started, and then Mr* Russell, 
bestowing a look of infinite compassion upon 

teering information as to what they would do 
if she were their daughter, watched him out 
of sight and resumed her walk. She turned 
once or twice as though to make sure that 
she was not observed, and then, 
making her way in the direction 
of Mr. Chalk's house, approached 
it cautiously from the back* 



realities OF ;.jr ■ i-:." 

his unfortunate friend, raised the mug 
obediently to his sensitive lips, Always a 
kind-hearted man, he was glad when the 
gradual tilting necessary to the occasion had 
blotted out the picture of indignation which 
raged helplessly before him. 

* ( I 'ope you're satisfied now," he said 
severely to the girl, as he turned a triumphant 
glance on Mr, Vickers, which that gentleman 
met with a cold stare* 

Miss Vickers paid no heed, " You get off 
home," she said to her father ; " I'll see to the 
Horse and Groom to-morrow." 

Mr Vickers muttered something under his 
breath, and then, with a forlorn attempt at 
dignity, departed. 

Miss Vickers, ignoring the remarks of one 
or two fathers of families who were volun- 

> who were volur 


Mr, Chalk, who was irf the garden 
engaged in the useful and healthful 
occupation of digging, became aware 
after a time of a low whistle proceeding 
from the farther end He glanced almost 
mechanically in that direction, and then 
nearly dropped his spade as he made 
out a girl's head surmounted by a large 
hat. The light was getting dim, but the 
hat had an odd appearance of familiarity. 
A stealthy glance in the other direction 
showed him the figure of Mrs, Chalk 
standing to attention just inside the 
open French windows of the drawing- 
The whistle came again, slightly increased 
in volume, Mr. Chalk, pausing merely to 
wipe his brow, which had suddenly become 
very damp, bent to his work with renewed 
vigour. It is an old idea that whistling aids 
manual labour ; Mr, Chalk, moistening his 
lips with a tongue grown all too feverish for 
the task, began to whistle a popular air with 
much liveliness. 

The idea was ingenious, but hopeless from 
the start The whistle at the end of the 
garden became piercing in its endeavour to 
attract attention, and, what was worse, 
developed an odd note of entreaty, Mr. 
Chalk, pale with apprehension, could bear 
no more. 

" Well, I think I've done enough for one 
night," he observed, cheerfully and loudly, as 





he thrust his spade into the ground and 
took his coat from a neighbouring bush. 

He turned to go indoors and, knowing his 
wife's objection to dirty boots, made for the 
door near the kitchen. As he 
passed the drawing-room window, 
however, a low but imperative 
voice pronounced his name. 

"Why not?" 

" Because if I did you would ask me 
what she said, and when I told you you 
wouldn't believe me,' 7 said Mr. Chalk. 

" Yes, my dear," said 
Mr. Chalk. 

" There's a friend of 
yours whistling for you, 1 ' 
said his wife, with forced 

"Whistling?" said Mr. 
Chalk, with as much surprise as a man could 
assume in face of the noise from the bottom 
of the garden, 

" Do you mean to tell me you can't hear 
it?" demanded his wife, in a choking voice. 

Mr, Chalk lost his presence of mind, il I 
thought it was a bird," he said, assuming a 
listening attitude. 

u Bird?" gasped the indignant Mrs. 
ChalL " Look down there. Do you call 
that a bird?" 

Mr. Chalk looked and uttered a little cry 
of astonishment. 

11 1 suppose she wants to see one of the 
servants," he said, at last ; M but why doesn't 
she go round to the side entrance? I shall 
have to speak to them about it." 

Mrs. Chalk drew herself up and eyed him 
with superb disdain. 

"Go down and speak to her/ 1 she com- 

"Certainly not/ 1 said Mr, Chalk, braving 
her, although his voice trembled. 


"You — you decline to go down?" said 
his wife, in a voice shaking with emotion, 

"I do," said Mr. Chalk, firmly, "Why 
don't you go yourself?" 

Mrs. Chalk eyed him for a moment in 
scornful silence, and then stepped to the 
window and sailed majestically down the 
garden. Mr. Chalk watched her, with parted 
lips, and then he began to breathe more 
freely as the whistle ceased and the head 
suddenly disappeared Still a little nervous, 
he watched his wife to the end of the garden 
and saw her crane her head over the fence. 
By the time she returned he was sitting in an 
attitude of careless ease, with his back to the 

" Well ? " he said, with assurance. 

Mrs. Chalk stood stock-still, and the 
intensity of her gaze drew Mr. ("balk's eyes 
to her face despite his will. For a few- 
seconds she gazed at him in silence, and 
then, drawing her skirts together, swept 
violently out of the room. 

by Google 

(To be continued* 

Original from 

Wonders of the World. 


from a] 



She had 
very good memory 
for figures ; but 
her reports were 
patiently enough 
received until she 
spoke of grapes 
weighing such an 
incredible number 
of pounds to the 
bunch that her 
auditors had to 
protest. With a 
view to vindica- 
tion she thereupon 
wrote to her West- 
ern friends asking 
for a photograph 
showing just how 
grapes do grow in 
California. In due 
time she received 
the picture of the 
loaded grape- 
arbour above 

OMK time ago an Eastern lady 
visited California, and on her 
return home she, of course, had 
something to say about the 
wonderful size of Californian fruits, 
not a 

To old-fashioned folk who think that 
photographs, like figures, do not lie, this 
picture is an excellent example of what an 
expert photographer can do with his negatives. 
It is, in fact, printed from a combination of 


Frvnta} picture is taken. . LP Art*. 

by Google 

"Original from 





three negatives, carefully pieced together, 
which represent three entirely different 
scenes y and which are also reproduced with 
this. The basis of the combination picture, 
at the bottom of the previous p ge, shows the 
huge grape-vine at Carpenteria, California, 
supported from its extensive arbour. 

Upon the negative of this was super- 
imposed, but upside down, the lower half of 
the photograph shown above, which is the 

picture of a field of Califomian pumpkins 
Teady for harvesting. Then a section of the 
last photograph, showing the farmers loading 
the pumpkins upon the waggon, was added, 
and the result was the combination photo- 
graph representing grapes as big as pumpkins. 
The credit of this ingenious picture, which, 
it is perhaps needless to say, was intended 
only for a joke, is due to Mr. N. H, Reed, 
Santa Barbara, California, 






By G. Lynch. * 

In the museum of Oriental art of M. Pardo, 
at Constantinople, is to be seen what is 
probably the most precious carpet in the 

Its history is very interesting. In the 
fourteenth century there was great rivalry 
between Turkey and Persia in that branch 
of textile art in which both countries ex- 
celled. The rivalry and competition had 
been so keen that the Shah Abbas sent to 
Mahomet III. five carpets by way of a 
triumphant challenge to the Turkish artists. 
He believed that nobody in Turkey could 
equal, much less surpass, them, and the 
chronicles of the time recount that they were 
beautiful beyond anything that had hitherto 
been seen in the East. Celebrated as these 
carpets were, thrown down as a challenge - 
glove, they disappeared utterly, and up to 
eighteen months ago, despite the efforts of 
collectors, they seem to have been com- 
pletely lost. 

One day a very old man, shabbily dressed, 
came to M. Pardo's office and told him that 
he had an old rug which had been in his 
family for generations. The family legend 
connected with it was that in the reign of 
Mahomet III. a very beautiful daughter 
of the house had been selected for the 
harem of the Sultan, with whom she had 
become a great favourite. As is customary 
with those who occupy that position, she 
was allowed to send to her family presents 
of articles from the palace, and it was in 
this way that the rug had come into the 
possession of his family. He said that he 
would like M. Pardo to look at it, to see 
if it were of any value. 

It was a matter of daily occurrence in 
M. Pardo's establishment to have people 
coming to offer old carpets for sale, and it 
was not until after a second visit that the old 
man induced M. Pardo to go and inspect it. 
When he did so he was struck dumb with 
astonishment and, as he told me himself, his 
heart began to palpitate so violently that he 
did not know what was going to happen to 
him. A connoisseur and expert from his 
youth upwards, he realized the magnitude of 
his discovery. Here was a piece of work 
surpassing anything that he had ever seen, 
and which could be nothing else than one of 
those five carpets sent by the Shah of Persia 
at the time of that international duel. It was 
not in good preservation, and that portion of 

by Google 

the pattern which had been covered with 
gold thread had almost entirely disappeared, 
but even as it stood it was to carpets what the 
Venus de Milo is to statuary. 

Filled with suppressed excitement and 
scarcely trusting himself to speak, he left the 
old man with the understanding that he 
should hear from him later on. He spent a 
sleepless night, troubled with conflicting 
emotions. He felt he could not tell the old 
man that the carpet was worthless and obtain 
it from him, as he might, for a few pounds. 
On the other hand, if he were to inform him 
that he was in the possession of a treasure it 
would inevitably result in the competition of 
many rival bidders. He also felt that he was 
entitled to the reward of his discovery. 

Finally he returned to the old man, told 
him that the carpet was certainly worth fifty 
pounds, but that he was prepared to give him 
one hundred pounds if he sold it to him 
there and then, without offering it to the 
competition of other buyers. The owner 
refused, however, to part with it at all. It is 
needless to go into the particulars of seven 
weeks' negotiation, during which time M. 
Pardo says that he did not enjoy a single 
night's sound sleep. The old man was not 
so hard up that it was absolutely necessary 
for him to part with his treasure. He spoke 
frequently of showing it to the curator of 
the Constantinople State Museum, which 
would have been fatal to tyl. Pardo. 

One fine day a policeman came to the old 
man and told him that it had come to the ears 
of the Sultan that he was the possessor of this 
carpet, and that before night it was going to 
be confiscated. Within an hour of that time 
M. Pardo came along; the owner seemed 
more willing to sell, but at a higher price 
than he had been already offered, Roll after 
roll of notes came from Pardo's pockets ; he 
felt recklessly excited when so near grasping * 
his prize. Finally a bargain was struck, and % 
he wound the rug like a cummerbund inside 
his overcoat, donned a Turkish disguise of 
beard, spectacles, and green - turbaned fez, 
with which he had provided himself for the 
purpose of greater precaution, and so reached 
a closed carriage which he had in waiting 
for him a mile away and drove to his house 
as fast as the horses could go. 

The expenditure on its acquisition was 
small in comparison to that required for the 
work of restoration which lay before him. 




So fine was the texture of the carpet that he 
found it almost impossible to procure any 
workers of sufficient knowledge and delicate 
dexterity to he capable of dealing with the task. 
The secret of replacing the go Id work seemed 
to be altogether lost- After a long and 
tiring search he at length discovered two 
Armenian girls, sisters, who could deal with 
it. The services of these he secured by 
agreeing to pay them ten shillings a day 
each for the remainder of their lives* 
Watching them, as I have done, at their 

treasure, he said that one of the great 
European museums w T ould probably buy it, 
or that perhaps it would go to America, 
where of late most of the best rugs were 
going. Mr. Harry Walters, of Baltimore, for 
instance, had recently beaten the records of 
all collectors by the choice specimens he had 

English connoisseurs were the first to 
appreciate and go in for buying the best 
carpets of the Orient ; then followed the 
French, and now the Americans buy the best 


From a Photo. 

work I obtained an idea of how trying and 
difficult it is. The fine gold thread used is 
taken from very old pieces of embroidery, 
and the strain on the eyesight of the workers 
is such that at most they can work only two 
or three hours a day. With each stitch one 
holds the tightly-drawn thread underneath, 
while the other works on the opposite side 
of the fabric* Although M, Pardo is the 
most gentle and considerate of masters he 
says he has known both the girls, each of 
whom is very delicate, to faint while at their 
work. If either were to fall sick or die he 
says he absolutely knows of no others to 
take their places, and his supreme ambition 
is to have this rug finished in time for the 
St Louis exhibition. 

When I asked him where he expected to 
find a buyer for such a costly and unique 

Digitized by GoOglC 

either of the old specimens or what are 
newly manufactured. 

One great thing about these carpets or rugs 
is that they practically never wear out. They 
are everlasting, and whatever signs of wear 
appear tone down their colours and make 
them more artistically attractive. It seems 
to me quite in the fitness of things that now 
the best art work of this kind should he 
found to be going to the United States, 
where, with such costly and limited house 
space, the walls should not be the only place 
for displaying works of art. The rich and 
harmonious colours, of pictures of these 
Oriental artists are not to be despised because 
we have to look down upon them* and arc- 
not to be the less treasured by the genuine 
connoisseur — the lover of things beautiful — 
because they are trodden on by his feet 




By Arthur E. Fraser. 

Ftotfi a J 



The set of pictures herewith taken by me 
at Kob£, Japan, shows very vividly the terrors 
of a fire on board ship — perhaps unique repre- 
sentations of a stein and awful fact. The 
ship in the photographs is the French mail 
steamer Tonkin, owned by the Messageries 
Mari times de France, which at 2 p.m. on 
August 6th last year, was lying peacefully at 
her moorings in Kobe harbour, At one 
minute past two my 
attention was called to 
a small curl of smoke 
issuing from the fore- 
hold of the Tonkin, 
and by the time I got 
out the camera it had 
increased to the 
amount as seen in the 
First picture. The 
second picture was 
taken at about three 
minutes past two, and 
the third picture as 
soon as I could turn 
round the film again. 

It was an appalling 
sight, the roar of the 
flames and smoke 
sounding like a huge 
blast-furnace. In ten 
minutes the whole of 
the bridge, chart -room, 
and officers' quarters 

were a mass of flames, and a strong wind that 
was blowing at the time soon carried the 
flames aft, towards the saloon. The fourth 
picture was taken about three hours after the 
fire started, and shows the ship surrounded 
by launches, fire -boats, and other craft. A 
close inspection will show about twelve hoses 
hanging over the starboard bow 

By this time the flames on the fore-bridge 

by VjC 








Frvrm a Photo. 

and forward part of the upper promenade deck 

were fairly under control, but blazing chunks 

of wood still kept dropping from the iron 

skeleton, which was practically all that re- 

mained of this portion of the steamer, The 

port side seemed to have fared worse than the 

starboard, for it was 

still too uncomfortably 

dangerous to invite 

mere onlookers to risk 

their skins. The port 

midship boat was 

entirely destroyed , 

while on the starboard 

side the steam launch 

had been gutted of 

its, woodwork. 

In order to pre- 
vent the flames from 
the fore-part of the 
Tonkin spreading to 
the after-part while 
the vessel still lay 
bows on to the wind, 
an awning had 
quickly been spread, 
and this was speedily 

when it was no longer needed* This 
step indeed was rendered necessary 
as the flames had caught in several 
places, and so that no obstacle or 
fitting of an inflammable nature 
should remain chairs and other things 
had been quickly thrown overboard. 
It is stated that the fire was due to 
a coolie dropping a cigarette in the 
fore -hold, wherein two thousand 
kegs of chlorate of potash were 
stowed, of which only about two 
hundred had been discharged. 

Many great artists have attempted 
to depict on canvas the horrors of a 
fire at sea. Such painters, as well as 
writers who have endeavoured to 
achieve the same result in words,, 
have not escaped suspicion, among 
those who have had no actual experi- 
ence of such an event, of sometimes 
exaggerating the horrors of the scene 
for the sake of artistic effect, but 
such a series of photographs as these 
serve to acquit them of the charge. 

It is true that this ship was burnt 
in harbour and that no lives were 
lost. But conceive the scene if 
such a fire had broken out in mid- 
ocean on board a vessel crowded with 
passengers. Add, in imagination, 
to the dense volumes of smoke, the red and 
lurid glare of flames which the camera is in- 
capable of reproducing, and it will be admitted 
that even such a painting as Turner's burn- 
ing of the slave ship provides but a pale 
representation of the reality. 

thrown overboard 

VoL xxvii.^43. 

^ T „H 




The Heart of the Footballer. 

By C B. Fry. 

HE footballer, the name with- 
out initials or a " Mr. " in the 
Saturday team lists, has he a 
heart? The heart, I mean, 
of a man and a sportsman; 
the heart of a brother. 
A curious question, maybe. In Sheffield 
or Manchester, nay, in parts of London, what 
a curious stare would answer it ! But sensible 
enough, needing no answer at a meet of the 
Quorn, say, or at lunch in a West-end club. 

At lunch in a West-end club there sat and 
smoked cigars, with a side-glance out at the 
cold, misty river, with a little chat on ethics 
of literature and psychology of belief, three 
editors, an author, and "a mere athlete." 
And at a turn of the talk, haphazard, he 
alone, the " mere one," believed and affirmed 
the true and abiding sportsmanship of the 

The old epigrams, the old catch-phrases, 
clever (and oh ! so ignorant), quoted them- 
selves to prove how the venom of a smart 
alliteration, of a question-begging epithet, 
can breed false opinion and thoughtless 
acceptance of untruth. 

" You are wrong, wrong, wrong," upspake 
the "mere one." "You condemn what you 
know as little as I know the strings of 
Kubelik's violin. These men you lightly class 
in some murky category of qualified ruffianism 
are — men, most of them, clean of skin and 
clean of mind, simple and hard and brave. 
Give me to lead a picked regiment of modern 
footballers, trained and armed, against any 
reasonable odds — for my life at stake. Nay, 
Roberts of Kandahar never led a regiment 
such as these could be ! Grit to the core ; 
smelling of clean health — salt eau-de-Cologne ; 
and — Britons." 

Excited words; but how truly nearer the 
truth than the unwitting cynicism of the 

The heart of the footballer? Honour it 
while you may, or learn to honour it : the 
heart that, under other names, has done 
greatly for England at Crecy, at Waterloo, at 
Inkerman, at Rorke's Drift, at Ladysmith. 

Granted, there are middling sorts in every 
crew. But why sit down and extract the 
worst from football vid the moderate kind of 
football paper ? Why — and at second-hand, 
too — take this as the essence of the players ? 
Why? Wh$n there is such an infinity of 

good in the game, however seldom recorded. 
One player one month is ordered off the 
field for ill-temper ; one ground one year 
is banned for a semi-riot. Granted ; and is 
that* the whole story ? 

♦Nay, there are other memories. For, as 
the " mere one " said : — 

"Football has many aspects and can be 
turned this way or that to appear in any 
shape you please. Rough, hideous, brutal, 
venal, clean, honourable, grand, magnificent, 
all at once, according as you see it. But the 
foundation of the matter is the simple human 
delight in the physical contest where physical 
prowess is displayed. It is a tale as old as 
the Greek legends of Hector and Achilles, 
and the thread runs through the history of 
mankind — the Olympian games, the Roman 
amphitheatre, the mediaeval tournament, the 
prize-ring, football." 

And again : " Paid players ? Yes : but what 
is it to these twenty-two athletes, eleven 
against eleven, that they will take each his 
bit o' money at week-end ? Here on the 
field they are footballers with naught in mind 
but to win a football match — footballers pure 
and simple, clean men with clean blood, 
supple joints, and tough, elastic muscles, just 
flinging into their play all their disciplined 
co-operative skill, a skill acquired not without 
hard trying and much self-denial. You can 
make other pictures of players, but this is 
one, and radically true. No place near this 
true picture for your cynic, pale and blood- 
less, with his epigram ; nor for your sceptic, 
fat and feeble, with his philosophic doubt. 
It is deeds here, action and sympathy with 
action — a human struggle for a known and 
simple end — a win at football." 

Here in England of to-day there is a world 
strangely unknown to many a leading lady 
and London citizen — a great, live world 
where, if you spun fine phrases about football 
being a mere pastime and recreation, you 
would be met by a grim, misunderstanding 
smile ; a world where football is football — 
the chief branch of sport — to be taken very 
seriously for the brief ninety minutes it lasts, 
to be talked about in the workshop and 
factory amid hard work, to be anticipated 
and remembered ; a world where a footballer 
is a man and a brother, with points to mark 
and discuss — a man and a brother to be 
loved and honoured for his prowess — not, 
as is often the case elsewhere, an alien auto- 
maton for any seedy pen to spill its wit upon, 




And the " mere one " said again : " You 
cannot [noperly understand football or the 
footballer unless some time in your life you 
have spent an open-eyed week or two in a 
Midland or northern town. There among 
the smoke-stacks and the mine-heads, the 
cobbled streets and the solid, grimy little 
houses, lives a spirit of football which you 
would never discover in familiar Ixjndon or 
in the quiet agricultural towns of the southern 
counties ; a spirit of football the very exist- 
ence of which you would doubt did you 
mis-know football only as it appears in the 
average newspaper. Up in the North and 
the Midlands there is t on the one hand, hard 
work, real work — busy, long hours in the 
workshop and factory ; and the wheels whiz 
and whirl, and the tall chimneys push forth 
their trails of heavy black smoke over the 
bleak hills- And, on the other hand, there is 
sport at week-ends and 
at odd times, sport in 
the form of bowls and 
brasses and knurr-anri- 
spell and football — 
chiefly football, The 
game is human and 
deep in human hearts 
— perhaps for a little 
harm, and surely for a 
great big good. Believe 

And they believed 
him, for he spake of 
what he knew — a world 
where he had lived 
and moved and had 
part of his being. The 
breath of truth blew 
fresh across his memory 
of men and things. He could tell of the 
hard, grey weather of a northern football 
town ; of the murky grimness of the ground, 
with its barriers of smoke-soiled, side -swept 
snow and straw. He knew the hardy, pale- 
faced crowd behind the barriers ; the man — 
in thousands — with a tight strip of spotted 
flannel round his neck, who means to see 
if he pays to go in and means to shout 
his will, hoarse and crisp, in picture-making 
northern burn 

An unconventional world it is where foot- 
ball grows and is fostered best ; where the 
whole busy town from head-man to hind- 
man, from mayor and corporation to him 
that works the electric tram points with a 
spike, all of them believe in football and love 
the game. There is a little town up North 
where coal and iroji are common, a rich little 

R[X!Ak CHAmvtCK, 

From a 1'hvto. by H. Thiete it Cto 

town chock-full of football. It owns a fine 
team, and if anything goes wrong with a 
player, so they say, the football manager goes 
to the mouth of a coal-pit and whistles down 
the pipe — "Send up a left half-back J '; and 
up shoots the clanking iron cage with Bill, 
the left half-back, inside, fit to play in a First 
league match, hard as his own hammer, 
with a cropped bullet-head and the joy of 
football in his feet. And to a man the ten 
thousand crowd at the match knows Rill on 
sight, even if he has never played for the 
club before. The mayor says, " Why, surely, 
that's Bill Thorpe, from Jackson's pit!" The 
small boy whistles through his fingers and 
shouts, "Good lad, Bill ; good lad ! >J 

The ten thousand crowd has its uncouth 
parts — perhaps its rough edges ; but enjoy — 
well, it does enjoy : black-fisted, wholesome, 
hearty, entirely game enjoyment of the game 
it loves. A player hurts 
his ankle and limps 
lamely to the sanctuary 
of the touch-line ; the 
trainer, in shirt -sleeves, 
gallops out with a towel 
and a bottle of his own 
"rubbing stuff." The 
crowd near the touch- 
line murmurs kind and 
loud, " Be hard, lad ; be 
hard." And in three 
minutes back goes the 
patient to the throbbing, 
quick -footed fray, cheered 
to the next six towns for 
his recovery, Get hurt 
and recover if you would 
feel a real football cheer. 
Uncouth, perhaps, but 
they do enjoy ; like Vikings, 

The memory clings happily still of a Cup- tie 
at Bury. They jeered us for troubling to come 
all the way from Southampton ; whistled their 
tunes at us ; twisted nerve-racking rattles at 
us ; waved their crude colours at us. See them 
stand and sway through the tense ebb and 
flow of the game that keen-witted, close- 
observing crowd ! Then ! Hear them cheer 
us, cheer us to the echq of the far-off hills, 
when we beat them ; beat their own home 
team — the darling team of their week-long 
hopes and fears ; cheer us with a deep, organ- 
voiced cheer when we beat them. Such 
memories keep the escutcheon of " paid foot- 
ball " fairly clean. You see it bright even 
through a passing breath of tarnish. 

The more so when vou have played many 



these various men ; some of them dandy, 
well - dressed accountants, some of them 
guiltless of collars and livers on the game ; 
but everyone a footballer to the toe-caps. 
All sorts of sportsmen. 

Edgar Chadwick of Liverpool might meet 
you any day in the streets of, say, Blackburn, 
He would show you, no doubt, as well-baked 
bread as any in the North. 
He bakes bread, or has 
it baked, they say, when 
there is no football on. 
They say he has saved 
every penny he has made 
as a football professional. 
They say he is a land- 
owner in some wealthy 
little sporting place up 
North. A leading citizen 
You may be sure he 
owns a window -garden, 
and knows every reason 
why the plant grows as it 
does. His house would 
be neat and tidy, with 
very white sills and 
door - steps. And Mrs. 
Chadwick goes to see 
him play, whatever and wherever, you 
may be quite sure, with an understanding 
eye for every twist and turn of the game, 
especially for "off-side*" And such a critic ! 
He, Edgar, owns the clearest^ star-like, twink- 
ling eye ever seen on the 
morning of a final Cup^ 
tie — twinkling with 
delight at the thought of 
a nervous game. Eyes ! 
He is full of them for 
football ; studded with 
them ; on his poll, on 
his knees, on his ankles, 
on his toes : all over ; 
and they all see into the 
other goal at every angle. 
He plays football. He 
might have been a polo- 
:)ony that needed no 
land on the bridle, no 
leg behind the girth ; he 
would gallop correct 
throughout, passage and 
bend and what-not to a 
hair, for the love of polo. A fine little 
charger for a light weight colonel, sure-footed 
and cool, in a cavalry scurry. But he is a 
man, and wears big shin-puds and plays club 
football with all his heart, just as he used to 
for England against Scotland. 


Frvm (i Photo 6* « Tlutlt itf t'v 

From a I'hulo. h* ft Thtile dr CV 


There is another Chadwick— Arthur — no 
relation, who plays for Portsmouth, and has 
played for England : a centre half-back, red- 
headed, and very fit to see. He is an expert 
maker of lace, they say, and a judge of lace. 
Master baker, master lace-maker, footballers, 
sportsmen, good men on a side* 

Excellent Scots drift South, From the 
Hearts of Midlothian 
there came this way to 
Hampshire one of the 
best — Buick of Ports- 
mouth—just a Scot, and 
a cabinet-maker. Small 
rather and slight, with 
yellow hair and double- 
jointed hips, he sets 
himself on the field to 
play the entire opposing 
team with skill and 
consummate observance 
of all rules. He might 
have no other trade than 
football, yet he would 
be known apart from 
football, Only a foot- 
baller—but it is enough : 
if you play as he does, 
with all your soul laid headlong into 
the game. Is it nothing to be a familiar 
Saturday afternoon guiding star to six thou- 
sand or thrice six thousand eyes, guiding 
all unwittingly with a humble example of 
" always play the game 
and play your best " ? Is 
it too much to say that 
such a player does far 
more than play his game? 
Well, the keen young 
Scot lives fit and cares 
to do so. And, after all, 
limber energy and un- 
compromising dash are 
something, even in a 
game. The man, just 
Albert Buick of Ports- 
mouth Football Club, 
plays his game with the 
heart of a sportsman. 

There are other 
memories, similar and as 
pleasant, some sixteen 
miles away at South- 
comrades these, George 
Harry Wood* Of a good 
hunter, wise and a clean jumper, men say the 
horse has a heart. Of these two footballers, 
who that has seen them play would deny a 
heart as big af ^WW^'P r 


ampton, Old 
Molvneux and 





From a Fhotu, b v & Thide rf Co. 

George Molyneux, for instance, was born 
some twenty-seven years ago with the shadow 
of being in earnest thrown 
over him for ever. He 
was once a plumber, 
He came into a football 
world and found himself 
therein, and made his 
many - wrinkled, clean - 
shaven face welcome in 
any team: a healthy, 
hard-bitten, kindly face, 
Who would doubt the 
heart of such a true 
fellow, with such dry 
humour and such a ready 
smile ? Simply a safe, 
determined, cool back, 
clever at kicking and 
tackling, with the knack 
of keeping his goal un- 
molested, Whoever partners him on the foot- 
ball field or off it has a comrade as sound as 
the Bank of England. A little thing it may 
sound among^all the great things of the world, 
but comradeship, even in a game, means 
something. What of the goals saved ? Nay, 
it gives a rare good sporting soul-fillip to 
remember goals saved, the saving of which 
meant every fibre of nerve and muscle 
strained to go one better than the would-be 
goaJ -getter. Live memories these* quick with 
the red blood of good comradeship, memories 
of effort to do one's co-operative best in 
tough League games and tougher Cup-ties — 
effort which somehow with its extra bit of 
try might lift one up the steep and narrow 
way as well as any quiet recited prayer. 
Think of the grim, quick football fight — put 
Molyneux there with the goal to clear; 
think how he will try all out. A footballer 


Frtmi a Pkota, by 

fond of cricket in the August, summering in 
the Norths wintering in the South. But his 
best football effort, alongside of you, surely 
it will oil your joints for you when you grow 
old and the air is keen and the wind drives 

Then Harry Wood of the undimmed spirit, 
once a worker in iron, firm and heavy to 
meet, hearty and cheery, see him move down 
the .steep stone stairs of his football homo, 
Southampton Dell. His style jumps at your 
vision so you have eyes to see— resourceful, 
unselfish, tactical, strategic on the field of 
play and an easy-handed, (irmly gentle captain 
off the field, a pattern to his team, thinking 
friendly thoughts of all the world and smoking 
a big, wholesome pipe in the evening. But 
a most persevering, unquenchable spirit per- 
vading a game is his — such that, when the 
game seems lost and over, something rustles 

round in the minds of 

his team: "No, not all 
over yet ; another hard 
try, a full tilt to the 
bitter end ; anything may 
happen — two goals in the 
last five minutes." This 
is merely in a game of 
football, but the same 
sort of spirit, grown 
bigger and older, has 
kept the flag flying in 
sterner places — at Luck- 
- ffl f * now, at Mafeking, If 

Harry Wood has sons 
they might do good work 
for England, with strong 
bodies and observant 
minds, in all sorts of w r ays. 
Turn far northward to shipping Sunder- 
land and see Doig the goal-keeper, who came 


U. Thi&c d Co, 



d Vv< 



long ago from Arbroath, in Forfarshire. He 
might have stayed in Scotland and lived 
where the cold mists rise quickly and the 
purple of the heather is blotted out in grey ; 
a shepherd with a long plaid thrown round 
him, waiting in the rain 
on his own Scottish hills 
to fetch the sheep— one 
dog away rounding them 
home, the other dog sit- 
ting at heel and listening 
for trouble, and Doig's 
keen ear and eye over 
all, kind and far-feeling. 
But he is not a shepherd, 
you say; nothing so 
useful Perhaps not But 
he might have been ; and 
as it is, he is a very per- 
fect goal-keeper in busy 
Sunderland and the joy 
of thousands in League 
matches. Dour at times, 
no doubt, but game as a 
pebble washed spherical by a brown burn. 
Did you see the twinkle in his eye, hear the 
mellow ring of his voice, see the ruddy, 
seasoned health-glow on his cheek, as he 
sUxkI up at Tottenham last year to receive 
the Sheriffs' Shield from Lord Kinnaird? A 
kindly man : a timekeeper in a big shipyard. 
Pass farther north to Tynedale, to neigh- 
bouring emulous Newcastle, where quick- 
firing guns are made and battleships. There 

From a Pkoio. by 

is full of method and level of head. He, the 
fast runner in deep mud, the decisive rapid 
dribbler, the well-poised placer of what 
weight he has, home like a flash, Non- 
chalant, imperturbable, patient, swift of 
action, a sudden danger 
to goal -keepers, Just a 
methodical Scot, looking 
for chances and rarely 
missing them. The stuff 
a business man is made 
of ; a business-like centre 
forward, leaving his mark 
of method in football, 
and the thrill of his dash 
in the heart of the crowd* 
Farther north, across 
the Border, there plays 
for the Rangers in 
Glasgow a captain of 
Scotland, Jock Robert- 
son, a left half-back with 
scarcely a rival. Once, 
a curly - headed flaxen 
youth, he played for a south -coast club, 
and played like a demon and a law-abiding 
footballer. But the North snared him back, 
the crisp air of the North and the busy bustle 
of the Clydeside shipyards. There he works 
in the week, helping to shape timber into 
floating form, spending his evenings to better 
himself with a Pitman's shorthand book and 
a typewriter. Good stuff this from the 
employer's point of view : and such a player 


ih* tll<£c Photo, Co. 

discover McColl, the erstwhile centre forward when the football turn comes on ! 


From a I'huiu. by l<nfayt.ttt. 

of Queen's Park, the amateur club of Scot- 
land, but a clever accountant, now in a New- 
castle firm and a professional in the New- 
castle ranks* Which does he work the 
better, his books or his play ? Doubtful ; ho 


From rt PkoUi. lp R. Tkitft it Cfc 

Or you might, on your way home, put in 
at Everton and see Jack Sharp, once of 
Hereford Thistle and Aston Villa. In the 
winter a dashing right-wing forward in a dark 
blue shirt forCiijTOrtettfiwth a trve centre- 



In summer a plucky, hard-hitting batsman 
for Lancashire with a red rose on his cap j a 
daring spirit in cricket, with nervous power 
and a strong will ; young and light-hearted 
and merry ; difficult to stop. Born a healthy 

him an advantage in heading, at which 
branch of the game he is a past -master. 
Has played for England against Scot- 
land, Ireland, and Wales, having altogether 
seven caps." Such is his football character* 


C- S.V.AIi. 

From a Photo, by Marbunr. 

sportsman, he plays where big crowds always 
watch him. And what but good do they 
gain from his style ? A trier of this sort has 
little to fear on the score of example, A 
pleasure to see him come out with his smart 
touch-line run, or to see him bowl his soul 
out against a difficult batsman. He rum a 
business of some sort between whiles — surely 
with success. And, maybe, has a very happy 
home ; he is of that kind So sorry to fail, 
so sincerely proud when his best comes off. 
Why not set him down on 
the credit page of foot- 
ball, and along with him 
Sagar of Bury, without in- 
quiry, a tall, long-limbed, 
beautiful player with 
lozenge eyes and a natural 
bent for fair, effective foot- 
ball Space for doing 
things no object with a 
ball at his feet ; a frequent 
winner of Cup - ties, A 
faithful forward for Bury 
for many seasons, and 
faithful in other things. 
Most Bury players are 
mill hands five days a 

Faithful, too, to Sheffield Wednesday, the 
club that holds the chain pi on ship of the 
League, through fair weather and foul, is 
Tom Crawshaw, the centre half-back, 
Sheffield bom. The book says ; " Has been 
one of the mainstays of the Wednesday 
Club fpr many seasons. His height gives 

From a Photo, fry JHrfJtW 


Frvm a Phaio. bir ft, Thuie & Co. 

But has thai tall, well-knit form, that manly, 
boyish face, that square jaw and high fore- 
head — have they no history outside football ? 
I wonder, 

" Goodalls all good/- they say, or ought to 
say, in Derby : Archie and John. Archie 
comes from Ireland ; and what a heart beats 
inside that sturdy frame — a heart unbeaten ! 
It may beat a shade more thoughtful now 
after all these struggling years ; his mind may 
have a solemn turn towards what w T as once 
a game of games to him. 
But no one who ever met 
him will ever remember 
the day when Archie's 
body did not resist the 
opposing side with some 
portion of his own. Don't 
talk of last yearns Final. 
Strong, young, rushing 
Bury won, all over and 
anyway ; it was their day. 
But gratitude looks back 
on Archie's years/ Recall 
the roll of goals saved and 
scored* See the opposing 
goal - keeper shuddering 
at the recollection of 
Archie's hurtle ! Hear 
the goal net twang and stretch at the 
whistling cannon — shot from his foot. 
These are things to remember ; and the 
man's hard-working influence on his side. 
Good memories locked in the store and 
labelled "A, Goodall, Sportsman Trier." 
Js the wijKi bleak &p4 cold? Is the, 



without taking notice 
of the carriage they 
have left, and in the 
rush necessitated by 
the brief halt find 
themselves running 
after a moving train 
and jumping into 
any carriage merely 
because unable to 
find their proper 
compart menL The 
little glass sign, with 
its embossed ele- 
phant or bunch of 
grapes, aids the 
traveller in this rush 
against time, and the 
experience ol those 
who have used the 

Paris-Cherbourg express points to the belief 
that the laughed-at device of a few months 
ago is already becoming an actual necessity. 

The possibilities in the proper use of this 
device are many, but the convenience to the 
public is the most important. Granted, for 
instance, that two travellers, one of whom 
has already taken his seat in the train, have 
met on the station platform during the pretty 
little jaunt of observation which takes place 
on Continental platforms before the train 

"Halloa, old chap!" says one, "You 
going by this train ? " 

" Yes," is the prompt reply. 

"Then let us sit together. Put your bag 
in where you see that elephant. That's 
where I'm sitting," and the thing is done 
without undue loss of brain tissue. 

If a seat has already been taken the 
traveller can instruct his porter to place his 
luggage in the compartment ornamented by 
the remembered sign. The system seems, 
indeed, simplicity itself, and should be as 
beneficial to the jaded porter as to the 
* In a little pamphlet issued by M. Cros, 
entitled " The Power of the Picture Applied 
to Railways," the inventor has pointed out 
the benefit of his system not only for pas- 
senger traffic, but for luggage and goods 
traffic. He points out that the railways, 
which are continually increasing the facilities 
for travelling, have done not a little to in- 
crease the neurasthenia of the present day, 
owing to the shaking of the train and the 
special mental excitement caused in those 
who undertake iong journeys. 

He cites the case 
of an official who 
enters a buffet and 
cries out to the 
travellers there 
assembled, "You 
have still ten 
minutes," The in- 
ventor naively re- 
marks : "It often 
happens that this 
announcement pro- 
duces an effect 
opposite to that in- 
tended. The majority 
precipitate them- 
selves tumultously 
as if the train were 
already on the move," 
At the start and on 




arrival at the desti- 
nation, moreover, 
a sort of confusion 
reigns supreme when 
popular expresses 
are running, especi- 
ally on holidays, 
which, he points out, 
can be minimized 
by means of these 
little designs. He 
shows conclusively 
that the numbers on 
the carriages are of 
little use in finding 
one's seat, because 
in hunting for that 
seat the traveller 
finds more trouble 
in seeking for the 

number than for the picture. Moreover, it 
is exceedingly difficult to remember a com- 
pound number of four or five figures, On 
the other hand, an association of ideas 
takes place in the traveller's ^rain between 
the picture and its situation on the windows 
of the tram* 

In regard to luggage the system is even 
more simple. The various designs used to 
mark the traveller's bags and trunks are 
square pieces of white gummed paper, with 
the design prominent in the middle. When 
the tourist arrives at a station each piece 
is labelled alike, say with a balloon or a 
crescent, and when the train arrives at a 
station each traveller's luggage is easily 
sorted out. The designs on the luggage 
labels, from which we have made a selection 
for illustration in this article, are as varied 
and amusing as those 
enamelled on the 
windows of the train. 

We venture here to 
say that the system, 
simple as it is, seems 
less convenient than 
the check system 
used in America, by 
which the traveller 
obtains a small piece 
of numbered brass, 
to be carried in his 
pocket, upon delivery 
of which he receives 
his property. The 
American system 
prevents theft, where- 
as the system of M, 
Cros does not, and 



after the initial ex- 
pense has been met 
it saves money for 
the railways. The 
American brass 
checks are used re- 
peatedly, whereas the 
paper labels, having 
once served their pur- 
pose, are destroyed, 
English railway 
officials, we are told, 
have scoffed some* 
what at the picture- 
puzzle train. To an 
evening paper the 
manager of one of 
the great southern 
lines said, " I don't 
think that system 
will ever be introduced here. What would 
be the good of it ? If a man has a 
grain of common sense at all he can 
locate his compartment before he goes into 
the buffet, and will know exactly where 
to go when he comes out. I admit 
that there sometimes is a difficulty, but 
I don't see that you are to mend , matters 
very much by filling carriage windows 
with a series of picture puzzles. If 
a man is running along a platform in a 
desperate hurry looking for a compartment, 
he will not be able to distinguish an elephant 
from an ostrich or a fiddle from a guitar. 
No, it won't do." 

Another manager said that the tendency 
is to do away with *the present system of 
cars with doors for each compartment, 
and that the carriages of the future would 

be more like the 
American style, with 
a door at each end. 
He remarked also 
that the buffet diffi- 
culties are gradually 
being solved by the 
introduction of trains 
on which passengers 
could obtain their 
food without recourse 
to the station buffet, 
and another remark- 
ed that the system of 
sending luggage in 
advance is doing 
away with the diffi- 
culties now common 
on the English rail- 



HE morning after the adven- 
ture of the Persian cats, the 
musk -rats, the common cow, 
and the uncommon burglar^ 
all the children slept till it 
was ten o'clock, and then it 
was only Cyril who woke ; but he attended 
to the others, so that by half-past ten every- 
one was ready, " Let's go somewhere by 
carpet," he said. 

" I wouldn't if I were you," said the 
Phoenix, yawning, as it swooped down from 
its roost on the curtain-pole. " I've given 
you one or two hints — but now concealment 
is at an end? and I see I must speak out," 

It parched on the back of a chair and 
swayed to and fro, like a parrot on a swing. 

11 What's the matter now ? n said Anthea. 
She was not quite so gentle as usual, because 
she was still weary from the excitement of 
last night's cats. " I'm tired of things 
happening. I sha'n't go anywhere on the 
carpet I'm going to dam my stocking." 

" Darn ? " said the Phoenix, " darn ? From 
those young lips these strange expres- 

"Mend, then," said Anthea, "with a 
needle and wool." 

The Phoenix opened and shut its wings 

"Your stockings/' it said, "are much less 

By E. Nesbit. 


important than they now appear to you. 
But the carpet ! Look at the hare, worn 
patches ; look at the great rent at yonder 
corner. The carpet has been your faithful 
friend — your willing servant. How have 
you requited its devoted service ? " 

"Dear Phoenix/' Anthea urged, "don't 
talk in that horrid lecturing tone. You 
make me feel as if I'd done something 
wrong. And really it is a Wishing Carpet, 
and we haven't done anything else to it — 
only wishes," 

"Only wishes," repeated the Phoenix, 
ruffling its neck ■ feathers angrily; "and 
what sort of wishes? Wishing people to 
be in a good temper, for instance. What 
carpet did you ever hear of that had such 
a wish asked of it? But this noble fabric 
on which you trample so recklessly " (every- 
one removed its lioots from the carpet and 
stood on the linoleum), " this carpet never 
flinched It did what you asked, but the 
wear and tear must have been awful. And 
then last night I I don't blame you about 
the cats and the rats, for those were its 
own choice ; but what carpet could stand a 
heavy cow hanging on to it at one corner ? " 

" I should think the cats and rats were 
worse," said Robert; "look at all their 
claws " 

" Yes/' saidiT^jrttfftfrcffaleven thousand 

Copyright, !„, by Co*. ^f^| Ty()f MICHIGAN 




nine hundred and forty of them — I dare say 
you noticed ? I should be surprised if these 
had not left their mark," 

" Good gracious/' said Jane, sitting down 
suddenly on the floor, and patting the edge 
of the carpet softly, "do you mean it's 
wearing out ? " 

11 Its life with you has not been a luxurious 
one," said the Phoenix, " French mud twice. 
Sand of sunny shores twice. Soaking in 
Southern Seas once, India once. Goodness 
knows where in Persia once. Musk-rat-land 
once. And once, wherever the cow came 
from. Hold your carpet up to the light, and 
with cautious tenderness, {[you please." 


With cautious tenderness the boys held 
the carpet up to the light ; the girls looked, 
and a shiver of regret ran through them as 
they saw now those eleven thousand nine 
hundred and forty claws had run through the 
carpet, It was full of little holes ; there were 
some large ones, and more than one thin 
place. And at one corner a strip of it was 
torn, and hung forlornly. 

"We must mend it," said Anthea; "never 
mind about my stockings. I can sew them 
up in lumps with sewing cotton if there's 
no time to do them properly, I know it's 
awful, and no girl who respected herself, and 
all that ; but the poor, dear carpet's more 

Digitized by LiOOg IC 

important than my silly stockings. Let's go 
out now, this very minute." 

So out they all went and bought wool to 
mend the carpet, but there is no shofl in 
Camden Town where you can buy Wishing- 
wool — no, nor in Kentish Town either. How- 
ever, ordinary Scotch heather-mixture finger 
ing seemed good enough, and this they bought, 
and all that day Jane and Anthea darned and 
darned and darned, The boys went out for 
a walk in the afternoon, and the gentle Phoenix 
walked up and down the table —for exercise, 
as it said — and talked to the industrious girls 
about their carpet. 

M It is not an ordinary, ignorant, innocent 

carpet from 
Kidder m in- 
ster/' it said; 
11 it is a carpet 
with a past : 
a Persian past 
Do you know 
that in happier 
years, when 
that carpet was 
the property of 
caliphs, viziers, 
kings, and sul- 
tans, it never 
"I thought 
the floor was 
the proper 
home of a 
carpet," Jane 

"Not of a 
magic carpet," 
said the Phoe- 
nix. " Why, if 
it had been 
allowed to lie 
about on 
floors there 
wouldn't be much of it left now. No, 
indeed. It has lived in chests of cedar- 
wood, inlaid with pearl and ivory, wrapped in 
priceless tissues of cloth-of-gold, embroidered 
with gems of fabulous value- It has reposed 
In the sandal- wood caskets of princesses, and 
in the rose-attar- scented treasure-houses of 
kings. Never, never, had anyone degraded it 
by walking on it, except in the way of busi- 
ness, when wishes were required, and then they 

always took their shoes off. Andy mi " 

M Oh, don't" said Jane, very near tears. 
" You know you'd never have been hatched 
at all if it hadn't been for mother wanting a 
carpet for UfltflaMtoMi." 




"You needn't have walked so much or so 
hard," said the bird. " But come, dry that 
crystal tear, and I will relate to you the story 
of the Princess Zuleika, the Prince of Asia, 
and the Magic Carpet." 

"Relate away," said Anthea. "I mean, 
please do." 

"The Princess Zuleika, fairest of Royal 
ladies," began the bird, " had in her cradle 
been the subject of several enchantments. 
Her grandmother had been in her day " 

But what in her day Zuleika's grandmother 
had been was destined never to be revealed, 
for Cyril and Robert suddenly burst into the 
room, and on each brow were the traces of 
deep emotion. On Cyril's pale brow stood 
beads of agitation and perspiration, and on 
the scarlet brow of Robert was a large black 

" What ails ye both ? " asked the Phoenix, 
and it added tartly that story-telling was 
quite impossible if people would come inter- 
rupting like that. 

" Oh, do shut up, for my sake," said Cyril, 
sinking into a chair. 

Robert smoothed the ruffled golden 
feathers, adding, kindly: "Squirrel doesn't 
mean to be a beast ; it's only that the most 
awful thing has happened, and stories don't 
seem to matter so much. Dbn't be cross. 
You won't be when you've heard what's 

" Well, what has happened ? " said the 
bird, still rather crossly; and Anthea and 
Jane paused with long needles poised in 
air, and long needlefuls of Scotch heather- 
mixture fingering wool drooping from them. 

" The most awful thing you can possibly 
think of," said Cyril. "That nice chap, 
our own burglar, the police have got him — 
on suspicion of stolen cats. That's what his 
brother's missis told me." 

" Oh, begin at the beginning," cried 
Anthea, impatiently. 

" Well, then, we went out, and down by 
where the undertaker's is, with the china 
flowers in the window — you know — there 
was a crowd, and, of course, we went to have 
a squint. And it was two bobbies and our 
burglar between them, and he was being 
dragged along ; and he said, i I tell you them 
cats was gii? me. I got 'em in exchange for 
me milking a cow in a basement parlour up 
Camden Town way.' 

" And the people laughed. Beasts ! And 
then one of the policemen said perhaps he 
could give the name and address of the cow 
and the young ladies and gents ; and he 
said no, he couldn't, but he could take them 

Digitized by IjOOQK 

there if they'd only leave go of his coat- 
collar and give him a chance to get his 
breath. And the policeman said he could 
tell all that to the magistrate in the morning. 
He didn't see us. And so we came away." 

" Oh, Cyril, how could you ! " said Anthea. 

" Don't be a pudding-head," Cyril advised. 
" A fat lot of good it would have done if we'd 
let him see us. No one would have believed 
a word we said either. They'd have thought 
we were kidding. We did better than let him 
see us. We asked a boy where he lived, and 
he. told us — and we went there — and it's a 
little greengrocer's shop, and we bought some. 
Brazil nuts. Here they are." The girls 
waved away the Brazil nuts with loathing and 

" Well,' we had to buy something, and while 
we were making up our minds what to buy 
we heard his brother's missis talking. She 
said when he came home with all them 
miaoulers she thought there was more in 
them than met the eye. But he would go 
out this morning with the two likeliest of 
them, one under each arm. She said he sent 
her out to buy blue ribbon to put round their 
beastly necks, and she said if he got three 
months' hard it was her dying word that he'd 
got the blue ribbon to thank for it — that 
and his own silly thieving ways, taking cats 
that anybody would know he couldn't have 
come by in the way of business, instead of 
things that wouldn't have been missed, which 
Lord knows there are plenty such, and " 

" Oh, stop 1 " cried Jane. And indeed it 
was time, for Cyril seemed like a clock that 
had been wound up and could not help 
going on. " Where is he now ? " 

"At the police-station," said Robert, for 
Cyril was out of breath. " The boy told us 
they'd put him in the cells and bring him up 
before the Beak in the morning. I thought 
it was a jolly lark last night, getting him to 
take the cats. But now " 

" The end of a lark," said the Phoenix, " is 
the beak." 

" Let's go to him," cried both the girls, 
jumping up. "Let's go and tell the truth. 
They must believe us." 

"They can't," said Cyril. "Just think! 
If anyone came to you with such a tale you 
couldn't believe it, however much you tried. 
We should only mix things up worse for 

" There must be something we could do," 
said Jane, sniffing very much ; " my own dear 
pet burglar ! I can't bear it. And he was 
so nice, the way he talked about his mother, 
and how he was going to be so extra honest. 




Dear Phoenix, you must be able to help us. 
You're so good and kind and pretty and 
clever. Do, do tell us what to do ! " 

The Phoenix rubbed its beak thoughtfully 
with its claw, 

"You might rescue him," it said, "and 
conceal him here till the law-supporters had 
forgotten about him." 

"That would be ages and ages/' said 
Cyril, "and we couldn't conceal him here. 
Father might come home at any moment, 
and if he found the burglar here he wouldn't 
believe the true truth any 
more than the police would. 
That's the worst of the truth. 
Nobody ever believes it. 
Couldn't we take him some- 
where else ? " 

Jane clapped her hands, 

"The sunny southe 
shore," she cried, 
H where the cook is 
being Queen, He 
and she would be 
company for each 

And really the idea 
did not seem bad, if 
only he would con- 
sent to go. 

So, all talking at 
once, the children arranged to 
wait till evening, and then to 
seek the dear burglar in his 
lonely cell. 

Meantime Jane and AfiLhea 
darned away as hard as they 
could, to make the carpet as 
strong as possible. For all felt 
how terrible it would be if the 
precious burglar, while being carried to the 
sunny southern shore, were to tumble through 
a hole in the carpet, and be lost for ever in 
the sunny southern sea, 

The servants were tired after Mrs, Wig- 
son's party, so everyone went to bed early, 
and when the Phoenix reported that both 
servants were snoring in a heartfelt and 
candid manner the children got up. They 
had never undressed. Just putting their 
nightgowns on over their things had been 
enough to deceive Eliza when she came to 
turn out the gas. So they were ready for 
anything, and they stood on the carpet and 
said :— 

"I wish we were in our burglar's lonely 

And instantly they were. 

I think everyone had expected the cell 

Digitized by Cti 

to be the " deepest dungeon below the castle 
moat." I am sure no one had doubted that 
the burglar, chained by heavy fetters to a 
ring in the damp stone wall, would be toss- 
ing uneasily on a bed of straw, with a pitcher 
of water and a mouldering crust untasted 
beside him, Robert, remembering the under- 
ground passage and the treasure, had brought 

i R* MU-JJV^ 

m„3 ,j 


a candle and matches, but these were not 

The cell was a little, whitewashed room 
about twelve feet long and six feet wide. On 
one side of it w T as a sort of shelf sloping a 
little towards the wall On this were two 
rugs, striped blue and yellow, and a water- 
proof pillow. Rolled in the rugs and with 
his head on the pillow lay the burglar, fast 
asleep. (He had had his tea— though this 
the children did not know ; it had come from 
the coffee-shop round the comer, in very 
thick crockery*) The scene was plainly 
re%'ealed by the light of a gas -lamp in t the 
passage outside, which shone into the cell 
through a pane of thick glass over the 

4i I shall gag him/' said Cyril, "and Robert 
will hold him down. Anthea and Jane and 


35 2 


the Phoenix can whisper soft nothings to him 
while he gradually awakes.'' 

This plan did not have the success it 
deserved, because the burglar, curiously 
enough, was much stronger, even in his 
sleep, than Robert and Cyril, and at the 
first touch of their hands he leapt up and 
shouted out something very loud indeed. 

Instantly a foot was heard outside. An- 
thea threw her arms round the burglar and 
whispered, "It's 
us — the ones 
that gave you 
the cats. WeVe 
come to save 
you, only don't 
let on we ? re 
here. Can't we 
hide so m e - 
where ? " 

Heavy boots 
sounded on the 
flagged passage 
outside, and a 
firm voice 
shouted : — 

"Here — you 
— stop that row, 
will you ? Ir 

"All right, governor," 
replied the burglar, still 
with Anthea's arms round 
him ; (£ I was only a- 
talkin' in my sleep. No 

It was an awful mo- 
ment* Would the boots 
and the voice come in? 
Yes ! — No ! — the voice 
said :■ — 

"Well, stow it, will 

And the boots went 
heavily away, along the passage and up some 
sounding stone steps, 

"Now, then," whispered Anthea. 

"How the blue Moses did you get in?" 
asked the burglar, in a hoarse whisper of 

"On the carpet/' said Jane, truly. 

"Stow that," said the burglar. "One on 
you I could 'a' swallowed, but four — and a 
yellow fowl," 

"Look here," said Cyril, sternly; "you 
wouldn't have believed anyone if they'd told 
you before f land about your finding a cow 
and all those cats in our nursery," 

"That I wouldn't," said the burglar, with 
whispered fervour 



by Google 

" Well, then," Cyril went on, " just try to 
believe what we tell you and act accordingly. 
It can't do you any Aarm t you know," he went 
on, in hoarse, whispered earnestness. M You 
can't be very much worse off than you are 
now, you know. But if you'll just trust to 
us, we'll get you out of this right enough, 
No one saw us come in. The question is — 
where would you like to go? " 

" Td like to go to Boolong," was the instant 
reply of the burglar. " I've always 
wanted to go on that there trip, but 
I've never J ad the ready at the right 
time of year." 

"Boolong is a town like 
London, 7 ' ;>uid Cyril, well mean- 
ing, but inaccu- 
rate, "How 
could y